Not As Easy As It Looks
by MidnightBlue88
Summary: After detention, the five teens try make their new friendships work, with mixed results. Is passion enough for John and Claire? How well do Andy and Allison really know one other? Where does Brian fit in? DISCONTINUED
1. Brain and Jock

A/N: I do not own The Breakfast Club or any of its characters. All supporting characters of my own creation cannot be used without my permission. Blah, blah, blah. Anyway, please read and review!

A/N, II (1/15/06): I used to have lyrics separating the sections, but have since taken them down to comply with the site's rules. If you see anything that is not allowed, please let me know and I will fix it. On a completely different note, I'd like to apologize for the extremely short opening chapters. They get longer, I promise. ;)

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Chapter One: The Brain and the Jock

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Brian Johnson had disappointed his mother.

Not only had he received a Saturday detention for the first (and only) time in his life, but he had also wasted 8 hours of potential study time talking, dancing, sneaking around school, lying to his principal and, worst of all, smoking marijuana.

Not that she knew about any of this, of course. He had simply told her that Mr. Vernon had forbidden the students to do homework. She just sighed, then said, "It looks like you'll have to spend all weekend catching up, then, won't you?"

He knew what that meant. Larry and David wouldn't be able to come over and plan Monday's Physics Club meeting like they were supposed to. It was an important week, too. The Space Exploration and Technology Convention was coming to Illinois next month and the club needed Mr. Waverly, their faculty sponsor, to help them plan out the details of their trip.

At about 6:00 on Saturday night, Larry called. "When should I come over tomorrow?"

Brian sighed. "Can't. My mom is making me study all day. I have Mr. McIntyre's Calculus exam on Tuesday and I still haven't finished the review."

"Differential or Integral?"

"Differential. I'm still hung up on implicit differentiation. I can calculate the derivative, but I'm having problems getting the slope of the equation. I mean, in question two, the positive square root represents the top semi-circle and the negative square root represents the bottom semi-circle. But th-"

"Brian!"

"Yeah?"

"What are you talking about?

"Um, calculating slopes?"

"You know differential calculus better than anyone in the math club. Why are you so hung up on this?"

Brian paused. "I don't know. I guess I've just been a bit distracted lately."

"With what?"

Brian swallowed hard, closing his eyes. "Shop class."

"Shop? That class is for idiots!"

"They aren't all idiots." A picture of John Bender with his feet propped up on the library table flashed through his mind. "And it's harder than it looks."

"If you say so. Listen, I'm going to call David and arrange to go to his house instead. We'll take care of the convention trip."

A few minutes later, Brian hung up the phone and picked up his pencil again. Numbers swam in front of his eyes, but he didn't look away. _Focus! You know this stuff. _But he couldn't and he knew why. It had something to do with a flare gun, a locker and the only four people in the world that knew him at all.

* * *

Andrew did not want to be at this party. 

For one thing, he wasn't allowed to drink. Not one drop. If he did, his dad would never let him out of the house again. _Drinking makes you stupid, Andrew! Slows your impulses, makes you weak. _As if one beer would spell the end of his wrestling career.

A sharp cackle sounded from the far end of the room, reminding him of the other reason he didn't want to be at the party. Stuart Borkowski, affectionately known as "Stubby" by his peers, was a lousy drunk. At Stuart's parties, alcohol was always available in abundance. That evening, the bar consisted of two kegs and a half of a dozen bottles of vodka, the latter courtesy of the football team. Nearly everyone (except Andrew) was drunk, or at least tipsy. Stubby, however, was hammered out of his skull. Among his exploits so far that evening: attempting to feel up three cheerleaders, including Pamela Burns, who spit in his face; beating the current boyfriend of his ex-girlfriend, Natasha, within an inch of his life; doing a cannonball into his backyard pool…naked; and, last but not least, dancing provocatively to "Hungry Like the Wolf" while mangling all of the words. Needless to say, Stubby's parties were legendary.

Now, sipping a root beer in the corner beside a couple making out standing up, Andy was beginning to wonder why he even bothered to come. After all, he wasn't allowed to participate in half of the activities. Drinking was out. Dancing was allowed, but he wasn't any good at it. Making out was also an option, and a very appealing one at that, but the girl he wanted to be making out _with_ was not present.

That left talking, one of the least popular ways to pass time at a high school party. Andy looked around the room for his wrestling buddies, but didn't see any of them. His best friend John had last been seen drinking beer straight from the keg in the kitchen, while his girlfriend and several others cheered him on. The other guys had migrated to the pool out back or to the bedrooms on the second floor.

He could branch out. Broaden his horizons. Say hello to people he wouldn't normally talk to. If detention had shown him anything, it was that he could make friends in the most unlikely places. And, if he could talk to John Bender, the guy that stole the hubcaps from Mr. Bentley's 1983 Pontiac Firebird, then this crowd should be a piece of cake.

Andy looked at the scene unfolding in front of him. A couple was making out on the couch and girl from his homeroom was inexplicably sprawled out on the coffee table. A couple of football players were singing the Shermer High School fight song with a lot of gusto, but not a lot of talent. And, of course, Stubby was right in the middle of it all, bragging to a wide-eyed freshman girl about his successful completion of the "Gallon Challenge".

Andy swallowed the last sip of his root beer, left his cup beside the plant stand among dozens of others, and walked out the front door.


	2. Princess Basketcase and Criminal

A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews!Enjoy!

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Chapter Two: The Princess, the Basketcase and the Criminal

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Claire had absolutely nothing to wear.

This was an exaggeration, of course, since her large walk-in closet could barely support her entire wardrobe and shoe collection, which boasted more than fifty pairs of heels, sneakers, sandals and flats. Yet, as she stepped in front of the mirror for possibly the eightieth time that night, she had the distinct feeling that it wouldn't be the last.

The pale blue v-neck looked lovely with her eyes. It was the plunging neckline, however, that brought a sigh to her lips. Was it too low-cut? Did it show too much cleavage? And this hemline, was it too short? About two inches of her belly were completely visible above the waistband of her denim skirt. Was two inches too much? If so, then how much _can_ she show? Or was she even allowed to show any midriff at all? And this skirt…

Claire groaned and flung herself onto her bed. _Damn, them. Now I don't have anything to wear._ She rolled over and caught a fleeting glance in the mirror of her purple striped underwear peeking out from under her Guess mini. _Very attractive. _She pulled herself onto the bed and tucked her skirt in under her butt.

Since 4:15 in the afternoon, when she had arrived home after detention, she had done a lot of thinking about her wardrobe. Not that this was unusual or anything, but the reasons were a bit different this time. She was checking every hemline, every neckline, every single scrap of clothing she owned, with the intention of proving them all wrong. _I am not a tease!_

The comments had bothered her, probably more than anything else they had said that afternoon. Being a virgin did not make her a tease. Of course she liked it when boys found her attractive; what girl wouldn't? But she didn't try to seduce them or anything. She didn't flirt shamelessly with every boy that looked her way, as some of her friends did. No, Claire was a good girl and wearing short skirts did not make her a tease.

Claire climbed off of her bed and stood in front of her mirror again. She smoothed out her skirt and adjusted her top, then let her arms fall to her sides. She looked good and she knew it. The skirt was a new acquisition and the shirt an old favorite. They were perfect together and perfect on her.

Her eyes drifted down to her stomach, where a small strip of skin was still visible beneath the hemline of her blouse. Then down to her thighs, where a good eight inches peeked out from the bottom of her miniskirt. She leaned forward and touched her toes, then looked back at her butt. Her worst fears confirmed, she let out a small squeal and flung open her closet door.

In search of a skirt that didn't show off her underwear.

* * *

Allison loved to dance. Not in front of people, of course, but alone in her room where she could let loose without anyone staring. Because if anyone did see her, they _would_ stare. She was very emotional about music and it showed. Sometimes she would throw her head from side to side and shake out her hair. Other times she would flail her arms and legs as if she were drowning. Most of the time, she looked like she was in a trance of some sort, which is how she looked on Saturday night. Allison closed her eyes and swayed as Bonnie Tyler's Total Eclipse of the Heart burst through the speakers of her stereo. She would never admit to another human being that she liked Bonnie Tyler (or about half of the other artists in her tape collections), but it really wasn't much of an issue anyway since she didn't have any friends to admit it to.

The song ended quite dramatically and Allison turned off the stereo, thoroughly flushed and satisfied. She plopped down on her bed and leaned back onto her pillows. She had nothing to do, which was about average for a Saturday evening. Funny how not having any friends tended to free up a person's schedule.

School was never an issue, either. She finished most of her homework during class or study hall, when she wasn't drawing. Any other studying simply didn't get done. Sitting at home doing geometry proofs was not going to help her in life. Allison was, in actuality, quite practical about these things. She knew what she wanted, sort of, and wasn't afraid to give up a "stable" future to become the person she wanted to be. And she did know who she wanted to be most of the time. The rest of the time…well, that's what her shrink was for, supposedly.

Allison's fingers played with the frayed edge of her pillow. Her heart rate sped up a little and her breathing grew shallow. This could mean only one thing. She leaned to the other side of the bed, reached under her other pillow and took out a small notebook.

The first half of the book was filled with older drawings. Landscapes, still life, abstract. Everything but portraits, which were too personal. They required a knowledge, or intimacy, that she didn't possess.

Allison flipped to the first blank page, then fished a pencil out of her bag. She gazed thoughtfully at the white space, deciding. Suddenly, she squeaked and smiled, then attacked the paper with fervor.

* * *

Bender rarely used his front door.

And why would he? The window was just as easy and much more convenient, as it meant that he didn't even have to leave his room. As a bonus, it also ensured that he wouldn't have to walk past his father, who was watching television on the recliner in the living room.

His evening could have been worse. He had walked straight home from school that day, not even bothering to use the window. His father, who was relatively sober at the time, yelled at him for leaving his cereal bowl on the coffee table. Bender knew his father was just pissed that he was running out of beers and couldn't load up like he used to. Money was tight ever since his father got fired from the construction crew he'd been working on for nearly twelve years. His mother's measly salary from the restaurant paid the bills, but not much else.

He managed to escape into his room and avoid a beating, no small feat when his father wasn't as drunk as he wanted to be. Bender's room, though small and shabby, was like an oasis in the desert. No belligerent fathers or screaming mothers or angry principals. Just a comfortable bed and his stash of weed.

At around 11:00, the yelling started. He knew the warning signs. The whole house would go quiet, like an eerie calm before the storm. It would stay like that for a few minutes until interrupted by a question. _What the hell is this? Did you drink one of my beers? Is this what you call dinner? _The question was different every night, but his father had his favorites.

The questions were Bender's cue to snatch up his weed and scoot out the window. This Saturday night, however, he didn't have anything left. He had let Jimmy smoke the last of it on Thursday night when his friend had begged for a hit, just one hit, man.

So, with his pockets empty, Bender crawled out of the window and landed in the grass with a thud. Through the open kitchen window, he could hear his mother and father fighting about money. He tuned them out as he crossed the front lawn, then the street, and made his way to the park.

The park, where he and his friends hung out, was only four and a half minutes from his house, which he knew because he had made the trip every night for the past five years. To pass the time, he whistled a few bars of a commercial jingle that he'd gotten stuck in his head.

Bender smirked when he remembered everyone whistling together in detention. As he passed the Quickie Mart across from the park, he switched his tune from the commercial jingle to the marching tune they'd been whistling in the library. He passed the baseball field and the swing set, then nodded to Jimmy and Roger, who were lounging on the merry-go-round. As the last few bars died on his lips, he smiled again.

Maybe next Saturday wouldn't be so bad after all.


	3. Monday, Monday, part 1

A/N: Thanks for all of your great reviews!

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Chapter 3: Monday, Monday (Pt. 1)

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Allison woke up late on Monday morning, the first time this had happened in years. Normally, she woke up before dawn, when most people were still asleep, and sketched or wrote in her journal. Sometimes she wouldn't do anything but sit under her window and watch the sun come up. She liked the feeling it gave her, to witness something so beautiful when most people didn't even bother.

But on March 26, 1984, Allison Reynolds did not watch the sun rise. She did not write in her journal or start a new drawing. Instead, she woke up at 7:41 A.M., precisely 19 minutes before the first bell rang.

She knew that something was wrong the moment she opened her eyes. For one, the _sun _was shining into them. Allison glanced over at the clock on her bedside table and gasped. Then she flung the sheets away and stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom across the hall.

In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and studied her face in the mirror. She had no makeup, of course. Not like Claire's anyway. The only beauty products she owned were a black eyeliner, black eye shadow and a tube of Chapstick. Not very glamorous, to say the least. She didn't even own a headband.

Allison let out a high-pitched groan and ran her fingers through her hair. She picked up a ratty old brush with frayed bristles and smoothed out the bumps. Then she tucked the side pieces behind her ears. There, a drastic improvement already. She pulled out the black eyeliner, then threw it back into the drawer. Chapstick was fine for today.

By the time she arrived downstairs, her parents were getting ready to leave for work. Neither seemed to notice that she was running late or that she had completely missed breakfast. Her father looked up when she walked in and put down his newspaper. "Are you ready, Allison?"

She nodded and followed him out to the car. On the way to school, all she could think about was what was going to happen when she saw the others. It had been a long time since she'd had a friend and didn't know how she was going to handle four new ones all at once. Not that she could guarantee that they would talk to her. Nothing was guaranteed when it came to trusting other people and she knew that as well as anyone.

But Saturday…something changed that afternoon. It had taken a while, but eventually she had let down her guard. It was easier than it looked, telling someone about her parents. It was even easy listening to the others talk about theirs. For a while, in that circle with Brian and Andy and Claire and John, she had even forgotten how it felt to be ignored and laughed at. Listening to them tell their stories, she had felt almost normal, like she fit in or something.

It was a nice feeling.

* * *

Claire was also running late that morning, but not because she had overslept. She couldn't decide what to wear. On Saturday, she decided to throw away nearly 80 of her wardrobe. On Sunday morning, she changed her mind and went to the mall, where she found some really cute tops on sale. On Sunday afternoon, she took them all back, deciding that they were too revealing. By Sunday evening, the saleswomen at the store knew her by name. They managed to paste weary smiles on their faces as they rang her up for the same four shirts, plus one more she hadn't noticed the first time around.

On the way to school Monday morning, Claire was still fretting over her clothing choice for the day. The top was fairly low-cut and the skirt, while not a mini, did show off a good bit of leg. Did this outfit make her look like a tease? What did it mean to be a tease anyway? That she dresses provocatively or that she dresses provocatively and doesn't sleep around?

Her thoughts were interrupted by her arrival at school. Her father kissed her on the cheek and pulled out of the parking lot. Claire walked through the front door of the building and towards her locker. Still lost in thought, she popped open the lock and removed her math book.

"Claire!"

Claire spun around to find her best friend Natasha a few feet away. Natasha was naturally beautiful, with long light brown hair, pale skin and brown doe eyes. She was tall and slender and every boy in school wanted to get into her size four Levi's.

"Hey, Tasha."

"You didn't call me back last night."

Claire slammed her locker door and winced. "I'm sorry. I forgot."

"It's okay."

"Yeah? How is Michael doing?"

"Fine. The bruising looks bad, but he's feeling better. And he should be able to get his stitches out soon." Natasha rummaged through her bag for her Cherry-flavored lip gloss and offered it to Claire before applying it. "It's the last time I go to one of Stuart's parties."

The warning bell echoed overhead and Claire grabbed Natasha's arm. "You want to go out tonight? Just get a bite to eat or something?"

Natasha nodded and slipped the lip gloss back into her purse. "I'll see you at lunch."

"Yeah, okay." Claire paused for a moment to search her own bag for her compact. It was at the bottom, as always. She grunted softly as she pushed aside various beauty products before reaching the compact.

"You're gonna be late."

Claire looked up her purse to see John Bender standing in front of her, smirking. He looked about the same as he had on Saturday except that he had changed his shirt. Her heart rate sped up a little bit at the sight of him, but she tried to act nonchalant.

"Aren't you always late?"

"I was on time for detention, wasn't I?" The final bell sounded and a few students scurried into classrooms. Within seconds, the hallway was all but deserted.

"Let's cut."

"I can't! Do you want me to end up in detention again?"

Bender laughed. "With me, you mean? It might be fun. And I know this great little closet…"

Claire couldn't help but smile. "No, I'm not going to risk it."

He paused thoughtfully. "Lunch then? Behind the bleachers."

She swatted his arm. "Pig!"

Bender smirked. "You love it. Now, don't be late to lunch. I forgot to pack mine, so you'll have to do."

"I won't be there!" Claire watched him disappear around the corner as she sighed. She was such a liar.

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Bender's morning was turning out to be more interesting that he had anticipated. For one, Claire was wearing a skirt that showcased her marvelous thighs. He had known that they were marvelous, as he'd gotten a very good look at them on Saturday hiding under her desk, but seeing them from further away proved even more enjoyable. Besides, knowing that they had a lunch date later meant that he might get another close-up.

He was late to first period, but not by much. Mr. Waverly, his physics teacher, seemed surprised to see him at all. Bender pretended to tip his imaginary hat at him and took a seat in the back of the classroom, where he propped his feet up on the desk. Two rows over, Allison, who had been engrossed in a drawing, was staring at him.

Bender arched his eyebrows in greeting and nodded his head. She smiled shyly and went back to her picture.

Second period English was more boring than physics, if that was possible. He passed the time by sleeping and drawing on the bottom of his boots. By the time third period rolled around, he figured that he had done his civic duties for the day and retired to the bleachers, where he smoked a few cigarettes until Claire showed up. A few minutes after the lunch bell rang, he spotted her walking across the field, checking behind her every few seconds to make sure she wasn't being followed. He smirked at this; she was such a goody-two-shoes.

"You lost?"

Claire blushed, but ducked under one of the bleacher seats and leaned against the seat across from Bender. "Yeah, I was looking for the cafeteria. I don't know how I ended up here."

"Oh, well, we serve very nutritious meals here under the bleachers. Nutritious and tasty." Bender smirked and took a few steps towards her. She stiffened a bit as he placed his hand against the seat beside her arm and leaned in, putting his mouth against hers.

Twenty minutes later, Claire and Bender emerged from under the bleachers, hand in hand. She reached into her purse and retrieved her lip gloss. Bender smirked and made a snide comment about her lipstick-cleavage trick. She rolled her eyes, then jokingly offered some to him as Natasha had done earlier that morning. John shook his head. "I've already got enough on."

Claire laughed, then looked around to make sure they were alone. She gave him a small peck on the cheek and let go of his hand. "My class is over this way."

Bender nodded. "See ya later, Cherry."

She narrowed her eyes disapprovingly. "When are you going to stop calling me that?"

"Guess."

Claire gasped and hit him on the arm. Bender chuckled and started walking towards to the front entrance of the school. The bell rang as he opened the door, but he didn't hurry. After all, he had a reputation to protect.


	4. Monday, Monday, part 2

A/N: Enjoy!

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Chapter Four: Monday, Monday (pt. 2)

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Andy stepped out of the shower for the second time that day and made his way across the room to the locker where his clean clothes waited for him. He settled onto the bench and sighed. Practice was tough and his mind hadn't been in it. His coach had noticed, but didn't say anything, only shook his head and muttered under his breath, disgusted.

_Let him be. I don't care. _But the truth was, he did care. More than he liked to admit. He was proud of his skills and his strength, proud that his coach saw him as a leader and a winner. He wanted to succeed for his coach and for his team and for his dad. He just didn't know if he cared enough to succeed for himself.

He dressed quickly and had just finished tying his shoelaces when the lunch bell rang. Making a quick stop at his locker, Andy picked up his lunch and started walking towards the cafeteria.

"Hey, Andy!"

Andy turned and waited for his best friend John to join him. John was a fellow wrestler, but had always been more interested in girls and beer than earning medals. Not that any of the girls minded. He was something of a heartthrob at Shermer High School.

"Hey, man. How's it goin'?"

"Excellent. Susan just told me that her parents are going out to dinner tonight, so we have the house all to ourselves!"

Andy rolled his eyes as they walked into the cafeteria and found seats at their usual table. He started unpacking his lunch, spreading his sandwiches and bags of chips onto the table in front of him. John picked up one of the sandwiches and squinted at its contents. "Is that sauerkraut?"

"No." Andy grabbed the sandwich from his friend and replaced it on the table. "It's tuna. It doesn't look anything like sauerkraut, you idiot."

John shrugged and popped a potato chip into his mouth. "Where were you the other night? I tried to find you when we were leaving, but no one had seen you."

"I left early."

"'Cause of your dad? Man, it's not like _one_ beer is gonna screw your chances at state."

Andy took a bite of his ham sandwich and chewed slowly, considering his words. "No, not because of him. I just didn't feel like staying."

"Well, you totally missed out. Brad was makin' out with Lisa Fuller when Josie came in and caught 'em." John shook his head and smiled. "She totally reamed him out, man."

Andy laughed. "Gossip hound. You're worse than a girl."

John opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a crashing sound a few yards away. Andy looked up to see Stubby and a couple of guys from the wrestling team bent over laughing. Students from nearby tables craned their necks to see who they were picking on today. Andy gripped the table as a feeling of dread washed over him.

"Uh, excuse me, fellas. I think we should just eat our lunches. My table isn't even, I mean, it's over in the corner over there and, um, my friends, you know, my friends are waiting for me. So, I'm just going to-"

Stubby laughed and grabbed a lunch bag from his victim. Andy closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. When he looked back up, he had a clear view of the action and Stubby's plaything of the day.

Brian.

* * *

Brian's day just wasn't getting any better.

First of all, his mother was still angry about his detention. She had complained all the way to school that morning, making it clear that she would tolerate no more of this nonsense. _You've got your future to think about, Brian. Don't mess this up. _At this rate, he probably shouldn't expect her to forgive him before graduation.

Brian managed to shake her words off by the time first period began. He and David were in the same American History class with Mr. Morgan. Brian wanted to talk with him about that afternoon's Physics Club meeting, but David showed up just as the bell rang, so he didn't get a chance. Afterward, he pulled David into the hallway and out of the way of students hurrying to their next class. "So, what's the plan?"

David pushed his glasses up on his nose. "We've already talked to Mr. Waverly and he has everything worked out."

Brian let his heavy backpack slide off of his shoulder. "Oh, okay."

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just hoping to be more involved, you know?"

"It's just one meeting. We knew you were worried about your Calculus test and didn't want to make you give up study time."

"Larry told you I was worried about Calculus?"

"Yeah. Why are you anyway?"

Brian sighed. "I'm just, uh, worried about this shop class I'm in, you know? It's harder than it looks and there's this lamp I was supposed to make. An elephant. When you pull the trunk, the light is supposed to go on and mine didn't go on and, you know, it's harder than it looks. I mean-"

"Electricity is nothing but physics, Brian."

"Well, yeah, but lamps are, like, light, you know?"

David narrowed his eyes in confusion. "You know physics like the back of your hand. We talk about this stuff all the time in the Physics Club. Why are you stressing about this?"

"In the Physics Club, we just _talk _about physics. Shop is like applied physics. Much harder." He swallowed, then sighed. "It's just a lot of pressure, you know? All this school work? I'm getting a little tired of it."

David was watching him very closely. "Are you feeling okay, Brian? Are you sick or something?"

"No, I'm fine. I mean, my allergies are acting up a little bit and I was out in the cold last night right after I showered, so my hair was wet and stuff, but-"

The bell cut him off before he could finish his sentence. David shifted his backpack and gave him a sympathetic, if confused, smile. "I've got to go. I'll see you at lunch, okay?"

Brian nodded and watched him take off down the hall. He picked up his own backpack, which was loaded down with textbooks and recreational reading, and made his way to Calculus.

By the time lunch rolled around, he was tired and hungry. He retrieved his lunch from his locker and walked into the cafeteria. Larry and David were already at their table eating. As Brian snaked through the clumps of people, he was suddenly jerked backwards by the strap of his backpack. He lost his balance, crashing into an empty table. His lunch sack dropped from his hands, spilling its contents onto the linoleum floor. He took a deep breath to collect himself before turning around to face his tormentors.

Stuart Borkowski, a wrestler, was laughing hysterically at the sight of Brian sprawled out on the seat in front of him. A couple of his friends were practically doubled over, hands clutching their stomachs as if in pain. Brian reached over and picked up his torn sack, then began collecting the pieces of his lunch. As he bent forward to take his soup canteen, which had rolled under the table across the aisle, Stuart grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him to his feet.

Brian lifted his hands in surrender. "Uh, excuse me, fellas. I think we should just eat our lunches. My table isn't even, I mean, it's over in the corner over there and, um, my friends, you know, my friends are waiting for me. So, I'm just going to-"

Stubby laughed and grabbed the bag from Brian's hand. He took out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, sniffed it, then passed it along to one of his friends. He rummaged further and fished out a bag of carrot sticks, then wrinkled his nose and passed them along as well.

"Man, you don't got nothing' else in here?"

Brian swallowed nervously. "Well, there's my soup on the ground over there. Tomato. My mom made it. She's a real health nut, you know, and she doesn't like me eating cookies and, and, like desserts and stuff. So…" He trailed off when Stuart grabbed him by his collar and pushed back onto the bench.

"Yeah, thanks for nothing', loser." He snarled and turned back to his friends, who were still laughing as they pressed carrot sticks onto both sides of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Stuart told them to grow up and they reluctantly tossed their creation onto a table where other wrestlers were eating as they took in the show. One of them groaned and flung it over his shoulder. The sandwich landed on the cafeteria floor with a splat.

Brian sighed and looked at the table, knowing he didn't have the guts, or maybe stupidity, to say anything. None of the jocks were paying any attention to him, except one. Andy was staring at him silently, not moving. His eyes locked onto Brian's and his jaw shifted uncomfortably. Brian snorted and shook his head, then bent down to pick up his soup.

He didn't bother to tell Larry and David where he was going; he couldn't face them after a scene like that. Instead, he left the cafeteria and headed straight for the boy's bathroom, where he sat on the toilet in the furthest stall and locked the door.

Brian's fingers trembled as he unscrewed the lid to his soup. His stomach turned as he focused on the thick red liquid. He didn't even like tomato soup. He recovered the container and put it on top of his back pack, then leaned back against the wall. He didn't know how long he sat like that, with a pipe grinding against the small of his back and his legs tingling from falling asleep. He didn't even know when the tears started to fall, but when they did, he didn't bother to brush them away.


	5. Were You At Lunch?

A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews! Keep them up!

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Chapter Five: Were _You_ At Lunch?

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Allison hated lunch. It was more about hanging out than eating, which she was completely uncomfortable with. She sat outside on the lawn beside the school, facing out into the street. Sometimes she even climbed into one of the maple trees and drew pictures of squirrels. No one ever noticed that she was there.

Monday was no different. After leaving her third period class, she snuck out through the front doors and hoisted herself up onto the lowest branch of the nearest tree. A few minutes later, she was about mid-way up, safe from prying eyes.

She straddled the limb and placed her bag behind her near the truck. Lunch consisted of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, minus the peanut butter, a bag of Cheetos, apple-flavored jelly beans, sunflower seeds and a warm can of Coke. She removed the sandwich first, then the jelly beans, and proceeded to make a jelly and jelly bean sandwich. As an afterthought, she added a few Cheetos for color and crunch. It never hurt to try something new.

Allison closed her eyes as a cool breeze swept by, shaking the branches. The leaves rustled together, dancing to their own music. She squealed in appreciation and swished her hair from side to side, adding her own bit to the song.

When the lunch bell rang, she stuffed her sack into her bag and climbed down from the tree. As she reached the bottom branch, she reached into her pocket for the bag of sunflower seeds and left a neat little pile on a flat space near the trunk. Satisfied with her good deed, she ran full speed across the lawn and through the school's front doors.

Fourth period was American History, a class she knew she shared with Claire. Allison arrived early, so she caught a seat in the back corner and pulled the hood over her head before taking out some paper to draw. A few seconds before the bell rang, Claire rushed in and took an open seat near the front.

Miss Montgomery was one of those wide-eyed rookie teachers, fresh out of grad school, that believed in every student's full potential. It would only be a couple of years before she, too, was disillusioned by the insolence and the apathy. Until then, she insisted on full classroom participation. Allison, of course, hated her.

"Okay, today we dive into…the Roaring Twenties!" Miss Montgomery smiled expectantly, but her passion was met with blank stares from students ready for their after-lunch nap. She cleared her throat. "Why don't we start by answering a few questions from last night's reading?"

Allison tuned her out and continued her mountain landscape. What she wouldn't give to get away from this dump and run away to Colorado or Switzerland or Nepal. She purred softly at the thought of living in a cave all by herself, snuggled up in her oversized parka, looking out over the valleys below…

"Miss Reynolds?"

Allison's head jerked up and her hood fell into her eyes. She pushed it away and peeked out carefully. Miss Montgomery and a few of her fellow students were watching her with varying degrees of interest.

"I was asking about the success of the stock market. Did you get an answer for question four?"

Allison stared blankly for a moment, mouth hanging open slightly. "No." The word came out as a croak, as it was the first one she'd spoken all day.

Miss Montgomery blinked, then looked back at her notes. "Okay, Mark, do you have the answer?"

Allison sighed with relief and pushed her hair back behind her ears. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Claire watching her. Allison turned to meet her gaze and Claire shifted in her seat and smiled. Allison didn't know what she should do, so she tried to smile back. Claire chuckled lightly and turned back to the front of the room.

Allison waited a few minutes before returning to her drawing. For some reason, her fingers were trembling wickedly. Two smiles in one day! From other people!

When the bell rang, she took her time putting her things away. Claire was swept away by a couple of cheerleaders, so she didn't stop to talk. Allison ducked past her teacher and out the door, then headed down the hallway to her next class. After being jostled by other students who apparently didn't watch where they were going or care who they ran into, she sought refuge beside the water fountain until she could collect her wits.

Brian came out of a nearby classroom, shoulders slumped and eyes cast to the floor. Allison reached out and grabbed a strap from his backpack, causing him to stumble. He swung around to face her, eyes blazing. She shrunk back to the wall, clutching her bag.

"Oh, hey, Allison." Brian took a deep breath and swallowed. "I thought you were someone else."

"Who did you think I was?"

He shifted his feet nervously. "Were you at lunch today?"

"No."

"Oh. Never mind then."

"What happened to you?"

Brian looked her in the eye. "What makes you think something _happened _to me?"

She smiled wistfully. "I'm psychic, remember?"

Brian didn't smile back. "It's not a big deal. I just got hassled by these jerks on the wrestling team."

"The wrestling team?" Allison felt the blood drain from her face.

"It wasn't him…but he didn't do anything to stop it either. I mean, all that shit about how horrible Claire was acting on Saturday and…I mean, what a hypocrite! He was too afraid to do anything. And all that about Larry. He probably didn't mean any of it!" Brian's face had turned an unnatural shade of red as his anger grew. He sighed. "I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, you know? It's to be expected."

Allison felt her eyes well up with tears as she stared at him, dumbfounded at her emotional reaction. One taste of friendship and she was hooked. How cruel of fate to take it away.

The bell rang, cutting into her thoughts. "Well, I guess I'd better go," he said. "I'll see ya, Allison."

Allison couldn't speak; she just stood watching him grow smaller and smaller until he disappeared around a corner. The tears fell like rivers down her cheeks and she numbly brushed them away with the back of her hand. Then she pulled her hood up over her head and continued down the hall to her next class.

* * *

"So, then, she was, like, 'What the hell, Brad?' and he was, like, 'No, it's not how it looks, Josie!' But it totally was! They had been making out for, like, hours when she finally found them."

"I heard they got back together at lunch today."

"Nuh uh! You liar! She would never take him back after that."

"Yuh huh. Denise told me right after it happened. She saw them talking and he was, like, touching her arm and stuff."

Claire broke into the conversation. "That doesn't mean they got back together, Clarissa."

Clarissa flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Well, what else would it mean?"

"I don't know, maybe you should ask her."

"I can't just ask her that!" Clarissa's eyes were wide with shock. "That would be, like, so disrespectful of her grief."

"If they got back together, then she isn't grieving anymore, is she?"

Clarissa stopped right in the middle of the hallway, considering Claire's logic. Amy wasn't paying attention and ran into her, causing both of them to stumble. Claire stifled a giggle and looked at her watch. "I've gotta go, okay? I'll see you after school."

The other girls nodded and continued down the hallway, still debating whether or not a girl should get back together with a guy that had cheated on her. Claire rolled her eyes and walked into her geometry class, where Andy was sitting in one of the front rows finishing his homework. She took the seat beside him and put her purse on the floor.

"Hey." He closed his book and turned to face her. "How's your day goin'?"

She took out her textbook and set it on the desk. "Pretty good, how about yours?"

He paused. "Not so hot."

"What's wrong?"

He looked around nervously, then leaned forward. "Were you at lunch today?"

Claire flushed a deep red. "No, I was…I mean, I had somewhere else I had to be."

"Well…you know what you said on Saturday? About what I would do if Brian came up to me in the hall when I was with my friends?"

Claire gasped and put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, my God! What happened?"

Andy pursed his lips together in disgust. "I didn't do anything and that was the problem. Stubby and some other guys were messin' with him and I didn't stop 'em."

"Stubby is an asshole!" Claire sneered at a few people nearby who had glanced up at her outburst. Andy appeared surprised, but didn't disagree. "So, what did you say to him?"

"Nothin'. He left before I could do anything."

Claire tapped her pencil on her desk and settled back into her chair. "I guess it's harder than we thought, huh?"

Their eyes locked and Andy nodded. "What about you? Have you seen anyone today?"

Claire thought back to the lunch period that she had spent making out with John Bender under the bleachers. "Yeah, I saw Allison in my History class last period."

Andy's eyes lit up. "Yeah? What'd she say?"

"She didn't say anything. I didn't even know she was in my class until it had already started."

He chuckled. "That sounds about right."

Before he could ask any more questions, Mrs. Sheridan closed the door, signaling the start of class. Andy cringed at the sight of his unfinished homework and attempted to scribble a few more numbers onto the page before she called for all work to be passed to the front. Claire opened her bag and removed her work, then whispered something to Andy. He grinned at her and jotted down the last answer as their teacher asked for their papers. Claire smiled, settling down into her seat.

And, while Mrs. Sheridan droned on about the Pythagorean theorum and Andy tried to stay awake, Claire daydreamed about John Bender.


	6. Repercussions

A/N: Read and review: )

* * *

Chapter Six: Repercussions

* * *

Bender gazed at the blackboard at the front of the room with vague interest. Was that…Chinese? He peered a little closer. No, algebra. 

He sighed and looked down at his desk, which appeared to have survived the Civil War, but barely. He ran his fingertips over the rough wooden surface, then dug into the pocket of his jacket for his knife. As he rummaged, he considered his options. _Bender was here. _Too cliché. _I hate Mrs. Winthrop. _Too obvious. _Fuck you. _Just right.

But the carving was not to be. Bender checked all of the pockets of his denim jacket, but the knife wasn't there. Nor was it in his jeans or his flannel shirt. He even checked the insides of his sneakers, with no luck. Fuck! Where is it? He remembered pulling it out in the library when he was threatening Andy, but didn't know when else he'd used it. On Sunday at the park? No, there'd been no need. The last time had to have been on Saturday during detention. But who could have taken it? Andy, just to piss him off? If it was, then it'd worked. He felt defenseless without his knife, and that was never a good thing.

But the carving was not to be. Bender checked all of the pockets of his denim jacket, but the knife wasn't there. Nor was it in his jeans or his flannel shirt. He even checked the insides of his sneakers, with no luck. He remembered pulling it out in the library when he was threatening Andy, but didn't know when else he'd used it. On Sunday at the park? No, there'd been no need. The last time had to have been on Saturday during detention. But who could have taken it? Andy, just to piss him off? If it was, then it'd worked. He felt defenseless without his knife, and that was never a good thing. 

Finally, the bell rang. Bender jumped out of his seat, knocking over his chair in the process. Out in the hall, he tried to remember what his next class was. _Physics? _No, that was this morning. _Gym? _No, he wasn't even taking gym…or was he? He narrowed his eyes in concentration, producing a look that sent every terrified freshman within a ten-foot radius running for his life. _Shop! That's it! _Bender rubbed his hands together and strode purposefully towards the t-shacks outside.

Shop was Bender's favorite course, and not only because it was his last class of the day. Mostly, he liked shop because he was good at it, something that he couldn't say about any of his other classes. He took pride in his creations, though he never showed them to anyone. Who was he going to impress, anyway?

Jimmy was waiting for him in front of the building. As Bender approached, he stood up and smiled. "Hey, man, what are you doin' over here?"

"We've got class, moron."

Jimmy looked around, confused. "We do?"

"Yeah." Bender stepped closer and looked into Jimmy's eyes. They were dilated, of course. Bender sighed. "Was that the last of the shit I gave you on Thursday?"

Jimmy's brow wrinkled in concentration. "Were you the one that gave it to me?"

"Of course I gave it to you, dickhead! Who else would it have been?"

Jimmy looked a little scared, which was probably wise. "I don't know. I'm sorry, man."

Bender rolled his eyes and turned away from his friend. He leaned against the side of the building, where the paint was peeling after years of abuse from the snow and the wind and the rain. The field behind the temporary buildings shone like a layer of wet emeralds. Bender closed his eyes and touched his earlobe, where a real diamond sparkled in the afternoon sun. He rubbed the stone like a talisman, wishing that it could carry him far, far away from the mess he called his life.

"Hey, do you have any food, man?"

Bender's eyes snapped open. "No."

"Aw, man. I was really craving one of those, what are they called? Ding dings? Ding-a-lings? Ding-"

"They're called Ding-dongs, dipshit."

"Yeah, that's it!" Jimmy laughed and touched his stomach. "I could really use one of those."

"Among other things," Bender murmured.

Jimmy stared vacantly at the field, then turned to his friend. "So, do you have, like, anything to drink?"

"No, Jimmy. I don't have _anything_."

Jimmy nodded complacently, then narrowed his eyes. "Dude, what's that?"

Bender sighed. "What's what?"

"That thing on your ear!"

Bender reached up and stroked the diamond again. "It's nothing."

"Is that a real diamond?"

"Do I look like I'm made of money? Mind your own fuckin' business." Bender pushed himself away from the building and walked towards the entrance to the shop. He started to say good bye, but didn't bother. Jimmy had already been distracted by a piece of paper that had fallen out of the garbage can. Taking a deep breath to clear his head, Bender turned away from his friend and opened the door.

* * *

Andy pushed open the door to the stall and went to the sink to wash his hands. As he lathered up, his thoughts turned to Brian. He really needed to explain to him what happened at lunch. He hadn't meant to just sit there; he'd meant to get up and tell Stubby to leave him alone. At the very least, he could have given him part of his lunch to replace the one he'd lost; Lord knows he had enough food. He'd meant to do all of those things, but for some reason his legs and his arms and his mouth just wouldn't cooperate. 

Andy dried his hands off with a paper towel and stood for a moment at the mirror above the sink. As he stared at his reflection, he was reminded of Brian's words from Saturday._ When I step outside myself kinda, and when I, when I look in at myself you know? And I see me and I don't like what I see, I really don't._

Andy dried his hands off with a paper towel and stood for a moment at the mirror above the sink. As he stared at his reflection, he was reminded of Brian's words from Saturday. 

Andy closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. _I am such a shit. _

He turned away from the mirror and threw his paper towel in the garbage. As he opened the door leading out to the hall, he caught sight of some graffiti at the bottom of the wall, near the molding. I DON'T LIKE MONDAYS. Andy chuckled ironically. I know what you mean, man.

School was over and the hallways were virtually empty. He started walking in the direction of the gym, where wrestling practice was held. His third work out session of the day and he was definitely not looking forward to it. Up ahead, Allison had her head buried in her locker. He grinned and called out her name, causing her to jump about a foot into the air. She peered cautiously out from behind the metal door.

"Hey. What are you doin' here so late?"

She didn't answer, but kept digging around in her locker, which was stuffed with papers and drawings and pens. A folder fell out and Andy reached down to pick it up. She accepted the folder, then turned back to her locker again.

Andy narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Allison slammed her locker door shut and whipped around to face him. Her expression revealed nothing. "Go away."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Go away!" She started to edge past him, but he didn't give up that easily. Grabbing the sleeve of her parka, he turned her around so that she was facing him. Her eyes flashed in anger, but she didn't say anything.

"What's wrong?" His voice was quieter this time, less demanding.

He saw her eyes glaze over with tears. "Are you sure you want to be seen with me? From what I hear, you don't associate with us _weirdos_."

So that was it. She'd heard about what happened at lunch. Andy glanced away from her and took a deep breath. "It's not how it sounds."

"Whatever you say, Sporto."

"I just froze, okay? If I could do it all over again, I would!"

"Out of everyone, Brian needed us the most."

"You don't need us?"

Her response was low and deliberate. "I'll manage."

Andy scoffed. "Will you?" Then he leaned forward, their faces only inches apart. His words were softer this time. "I know you, Allison. I know this is just some cover-up because you're afraid to admit that you may actually need a friend."

"You don't know me!"

"Yes, I do!"

"Go to hell!"

Andy clenched his jaw. "This is starting to sound a little familiar."

She narrowed her eyes at him, then reached into her bag and pulled out a piece of paper. It was a bright yellow flyer with a picture of a mountain on one side. She turned it over so that he could read the message:

**Physics Club Meeting, Monday After School in Rm. 113, Find out how you can go with us to the Space Exploration and Technology Convention next month… It'll be out of this world!**

"What is this?"

"What does it look like?"

"Where did you get it?"

"I stole it."

He read the words for a second time, then looked her in the eye. "I have wrestling practice."

She shrugged, then moved past him. He let her this time, but continued to watch her as she walked down the empty hallway. When she disappeared through the double doors leading to the front of the school, he wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced down at the words he might have laughed out only hours ago. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Shit."

Folding the flyer and tucking it into his pocket, Andy jogged down the hall in search of room 113.

* * *

"The bus will arrive at the school at 7:30 and will leave for Chicago at 8:00 sharp." Mr. Waverly removed his glasses and looked up from his notes. "Now, for those of you meeting us at the Convention Center, we will be arriving there at approximately 8:45. I have written directions if you need them." 

A girl sitting in the front row raised her hand. "Um, Mr. Waverly? Do we need a permission slip?"

"Yes. They need to be signed by your parents and returned to me on the Wednesday before we leave." He grabbed a stack of papers from his desk and passed them to David, who began handing them out to the students. Brian took his and stuffed it into his backpack. He jumped when someone elbowed him in the ribs.

"Hey, why did you leave so quickly today?" Larry whispered.

"Leave where?"

"Lunch!"

"Oh." Brian hesitated, then spoke. "I had to go to the bathroom."

"We saw what those guys did to you. They're such jerks."

"Yeah, I know. I-" Brian nearly forgot what he was going to say as the classroom door opened and Andrew Clark stepped in. Mr. Waverly stopped speaking and turned to see who had arrived late to the meeting. Everyone else stared at their visitor, some with jaws hanging open, all with unabashed surprise. Larry was gazing at the wrestler with a mixture of fear and fury.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt your meeting. I just-"

"Are you here to get information about the convention?" Mr. Waverly asked.

A few club members giggled quietly and Andy flushed with embarrassment. "Uh, no, sir. I just came to talk to Brian. It's kind of important, sir."

"Mr. Clark, this is a very important meeting. If you aren't here to participate, then I suggest you leave."

Andy opened his mouth to respond, but Brian beat him to the punch. "Uh, excuse me, sir. I, uh, I invited him. We'll just…I'll just be one minute." With that, he pushed Andy out the door and into the hall.

When the door closed safely behind them, Brian spun around to face him. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to talk to you."

Brian scoffed. "What? Something you couldn't say at lunch?"

Andy swallowed and had the decency to look embarrassed. "That's what I came to talk to you about. I'm sorry, man. Stubby can be a real asshole sometimes and-"

"No, Andy, you're the asshole! With everything that happened on Saturday…you said I was your friend!" Brian paused and took a deep breath while Andy studied his shoes.

"I'm really sorry, Brian. If I could do it all over again, I would-"

"But you can't, can you? No more than you can undo what you did to Larry."

Andy swallowed. "Brian, really, I said I was sorry."

"Yeah? Did you say you were sorry to him?" Brian waved his hand towards the door. "You haven't." Andy didn't speak and Brian shook his head in disgust. "I didn't think so."

With that, he turned back to the door and walked back inside, leaving Andy alone with his thoughts and late for wrestling practice.


	7. What's With You?

A/N: Thanks for all of the great reviews. Keep them up! They really do encourage authors to keep writing (hint, hint).

* * *

Chapter 7: What's With You?

* * *

Claire wandered into the school parking lot after her last class, discreetly scanning the area for any sign of Bender or his friends. She walked along the sidewalk and peered in at the spaces between the vehicles. "Karma Chameleon" blasted from the speakers of a nearby car's speakers. As it drove away, Claire cringed. She hated that song.

"Claire…" She turned around to find Natasha walking towards her on the sidewalk, keys in hand. As she approached, she put her hands on her hips, causing the keys to jangle against her leg. "Where were you?"

"Um, sorry. I guess I just thought I would meet you out here…"

"No, you idiot. I meant at lunch. Where were you?"

Claire looked away so that Natasha wouldn't notice that every ounce of blood had simultaneously rushed to her face. "Oh, I had this thing… homework, I mean, due in…geometry. I went to the library to finish it up."

Natasha was nodding as she studied her closely. "Uh huh. Was it Jordan?"

"Jordan?"

"That you snuck off to meet."

Claire's eyes widened. "Jordan! Of course not!"

"Really? Last I heard, he was 'The One.'" She made quotations in the air with her fingers as she rolled her eyes. "So, if he's not, then who is?"

Claire tucked her hair behind her ears nervously. "I didn't meet anybody, Tasha. I was studying."

"You see, Claire, when you make up a lie about where you were, you probably shouldn't say you were studying. It's kind of a tip-off." Natasha pulled out her lip gloss and applied it to her already glistening lips. "So, are you going to tell me?"

Claire narrowed her eyes at her best friend, then stuck her chin out defiantly. "No."

"You will eventually."

"Natasha, my lips are sealed."

…………..

"_John Bender_? Are you serious?" Natasha and Claire were sitting in McDonald's eating chicken nuggets and French fries. Claire eyed what remained of Natasha's "light" afternoon snack and wondered for the millionth time in her life how someone could eat so much and stay so thin.

"I mean, really. Are you for real?" Natasha leaned forward, eyes wide with amusement. "Tell me now, Claire."

"Yes, I'm serious! Now, keep your voice down!" Claire glanced around the empty restaurant, making sure that no one was hiding under a nearby table or spying on them from behind the trash can.

Natasha waved her off and swallowed a mouthful of fries. "Who's gonna hear us? The cooks? Now, tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened."

"Right. You snuck off at lunch with a guy who's been in Vernon's office more than Vernon himself and you're telling me that nothing happened."

Claire hesitated. "Maybe."

"Is he a good kisser?"

"Natasha!"

"Well, is he?"

Claire sighed. "Yes."

Natasha's mouth curled into a wide smile. "Wow, Claire. This is big news."

"It isn't news, Tasha. And you certainly can't tell anyone!"

"Do I look like I was born yesterday?" Natasha peered into her empty box of French fries, then motioned at Claire's. Claire nodded and pushed them forward, having lost her appetite.

"He's kind of cute, you know. In a Rebel Without a Cause kind of way. I think he's in my History class, but he's hardly ever there." She shook out the carton, spilling some of the greasy sticks onto her tray. "How did this happen anyway?"

"We met in detention."

"How original." Natasha plopped a fry into her mouth and settled back into her seat. "So, where is this going with you two? I mean, this is just a physical thing, right?"

Claire used an uneaten fry to play with her leftover ketchup. "Yep." She swirled the thick red sauce into a figure eight, then plopped the fry into her mouth. She swallowed, then looked up at her friend. "It's just physical."

* * *

Coach Morales was not happy when Andy creaked open the gym doors, hoping to make an inconspicuous entrance. An impossible dream, to say the least, as he was the star of every practice and meet. This was made evident when every head swiveled in his direction as the door closed.

"Clark! Where the hell have you been?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I had something I had to take care of."

"Something more important than this?" Coach Morales swept his arm in a wide arch, indicating the other wrestlers. "Are we just supposed to wait around for you, hoping you'll find the time to grace us with your presence?" The coach's face was red with anger and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead.

"No, sir. I'm sorry."

"Not good enough. Now get over there!" He motioned to the mat in the center of the room, where nine other athletes stood waiting. Andy nodded and joined his teammates.

"Now, I want to see Johnson and Clark in the circle. Come on, hustle!" The coach put his hands on his waist and glared at the boys. Corey Johnson, a quiet blond, nodded at Andy as the two faced each other in the center of the circle. Andy took a deep breath and nodded back.

A sharp whistle pierced the air and the boys flung themselves at one another, both attempting to gain the upper hand. Andy grabbed the taller boy by the waist and tried to lift him off the floor, with no success. Corey was latched onto his shoulders, trying to pin Andy's arms together from the back.

Andy thought of Brian at lunch, getting hauled up from the floor by his collar. Oh, the humiliation. Andy's stomach tightened as Corey's arm wrapped around it snugly.

"Clark! Get your head out of the clouds!" Coach's words pierced through his reverie, causing him to slip up. He felt Corey's arm tighten around his waist, ready to flip him over. Andy gritted his teeth and pushed against him, causing Corey's grip to loosen from the unexpected move. Andy used the opportunity to tighten his own grip on Corey's hips, forcing the other boy to stumble over. He landed on the mat with a thud, quickly rolling over to avoid being pinned. Andy felt the blood pounding in his temples, urging him to hurry, to finish him off.

With Corey's body squirming below his, Andy pushed his arms through his opponent's, hooking his elbows into the other boy's armpits and lacing his hands around the back of his neck. His opponent tried to break free from the half-nelson, breathing heavily, but was unsuccessful. Andy's legs burned as he kept his hold, reminding him that he hadn't even warmed up yet.

"Come on, Clark!" This time, the words seemed to come at him gradually, as though they were being filtered through water. He watched in slow motion as he pushed the other boy to his knees, then all the way to the mat. He landed on top of him, crushing him with his weight. He heard a sharp exhalation from the body beneath him, then the shrill of a whistle.

Andy stood and watched Corey pull himself up to his knees. He stood still for a moment, waiting for the rush of adrenaline that accompanied a job well done. It didn't come. His eyes drifted over to the side of the mat, where Coach Morales was speaking quietly with Corey, giving him a few pointers. He looked up from the younger boy's ear and nodded grimly to Andrew, then called out another pair of names.

Andy walked stiffly to the water fountain and bent over to take a drink. He pushed the metal bar and watched the liquid pulse out, forming a crystal arch. He stood transfixed, not taking a drink. Another whistle pierced the air and another match commenced behind him, but he didn't turn to watch. Instead, he bent his head closer to the curve of water, letting it run over his forehead and mix with beads of sweat before collecting at the bottom of the fountain and racing down the drain.

* * *

"I still can't believe you invited him to our meeting."

"I didn't invite him, Larry. He just showed up."

"You told Mr. Waverly that you invited him."

Brian sighed and tugged at the bottom of his navy sweater impatiently. "I know what I said, okay? But I didn't want Mr. Waverly to get mad at him."

"Why are you so concerned with his feelings all of a sudden?" Larry stopped on the sidewalk in front of the school and turned to face Brian.

"I'm not, okay? Jeez, I just didn't…I just didn't want to make a scene, okay?"

"Have you already forgotten about what happened last week, Brian?"

"Of course not," Brian responded, softer this time.

"Or what about lunch today, huh? _What about lunch_?" Larry's eyes were blazing with fury and sadness. "Where was your friend then, Brian?"

David stood nearby, watching the exchange silently. When Larry's voice cracked, he stepped forward and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. Brian watched Larry flinch, then crumple, his face contorting gruesomely.

"Larry, your dad's coming." David's words were low and clear. Larry straightened his shoulders and wiped his face, then picked his backpack up off the sidewalk. He took a deep breath, then turned toward the street, where a maroon station wagon with wood paneling pulled up to the curb.

"Hello, boys. Do you need a ride?" Mr. Lester smiled at the trio from the driver's seat.

"No, thanks, Mr. Lester. We're going to walk." David smiled as Larry piled into the car.

"Okey-dokey. We'll see you tomorrow." Mr. Lester waved and put the car into drive. Larry stared vacantly from the passenger seat, silent. David waved as the car pulled away from the curb and started off down the street. He and Brian stood silently, watching the station wagon turn the corner and disappear from view. Brian let his head fall to his chest and closed his eyes, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong.

"He's not mad at you. He's just upset about last week."

"You think?"

"Yeah."

Brian lifted his head and looked his friend in the eye. "Do you…I mean, do you think he'll be okay?"

David nodded, pushing his glasses up. "Why was he there, anyway?"

Brian swallowed nervously, but told the truth. "He came to apologize for what happened at lunch today."

"I didn't think he was the one that stole your lunch."

"He wasn't, but he felt bad that he didn't try to stop it."

"Why would he have tried to stop it?"

Brian took a deep breath, trying to decide how to explain what happened on Saturday. As if any of them really knew. "We had detention together on Saturday and we… you know, we kind of hung out and talked and stuff."

David's eyes widened. "So, are you guys, like, friends or something?"

"Not exactly. I mean, I guess not, you know? After today…" Brian remembered Andy's earnest expression as he tried to explain his actions, but didn't know what it meant. "I guess things are probably about the same as they were, you know, last week."

David nodded, still trying to process Brian's confession. They stood silently for a few minutes until a crisp breeze blew through, sending shivers up their spines.

"You want to come over to my house?"

Brian paused, then smiled weakly. "Yeah."


	8. Evening

A/N: Warning for this chapter: violent descriptions and innuendos, plus some more bad language. All courtesy of John Bender, as you might have guessed. And, some of you had some comments about Bender's friend Jimmy. As you will see from this chapter, he is little bit out there (and pretty unstable) all of the time and his condition is, shall we say, magnified when affected by various chemicals, like those found in marijuana. I am aware that most people who smoke weed do not act that way, LOL. Also, keep reviewing, please. It is SO encouraging. I really love getting reviews that comment on things they did or didn't like about the story. So, thanks for all of the great reviews so far!

* * *

Chapter 8: Evening

* * *

"So, do you think that in, like, a hundred years or something, people are going to live on the moon?"

Bender looked over at Jimmy and glared at him. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I saw it on the Jetsons, man. They were, like, living on the moon and their houses were all floating in space and they rode space cars and stuff." Jimmy grinned and nudged Bender in the arm. "Isn't that awesome?"

Bender pushed him over and settled back against the bar of the merry-go-round. "Yeah, really awesome."

Jimmy didn't pick up on the sarcasm. "I want to live on Pluto."

"You're not going to be alive in a hundred years, you idiot. Not if you keep doin' all the shit you've _been_ doin', anyway."

Jimmy considered this for a moment as he took another gulp of beer. Bender took advantage of the silence and leaned his head back, taking in the view. The stars were not as clearly visible as they might have been in the country, but the view was better than the one in Chicago. Tiny points of light, like holes in a piece of construction paper, stood out against the dark grey sky. The moon hung like a cardboard cutout just above the roofs of the houses on the other side of the park.

Bender turned to Roger, who was sitting to his right, smoking a cigarette. "Did you talk to Jerry today?"

Roger shook his head as he blew out a puff of smoke. "I never saw him."

"Yeah, he was pretty fucked up."

Roger lifted his eyebrows slightly, as if to say 'What else is new?', then took another drag on his cigarette. The thing about Roger, which Bender figured out not long after he met him, was that he never seemed to be surprised about anything. Maybe it was because he was just so observant that he had everyone pegged the moment he met them. Or maybe it was because he'd already seen too much in his life. After all, what could possibly rattle you when you've come home to find your Mom knocked out on the sofa and your father in the back bedroom, fists bloody, watching cartoons and drinking a beer?

"So, maybe by the time I get old, they'll have come up with a way to, like, make people live longer, you know?" Jimmy's eyes lit up with excitement. "Wouldn't that be cool?"

"Yes, very cool."

Jimmy's eyes glazed over as he imagined a world where people lived to be 150 and drove space cars around the moon. Bender shook his head and took another swig of beer.

"Whoa, Bender, man! Is that a real diamond?" Jimmy had snapped out of his reverie and was staring at Bender's earlobe with a mixture of shock and giddiness.

Bender rolled his eyes and set his beer on the metal surface beside his leg. "You've already asked me about this today, Jimmy."

Jimmy's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I did?"

"Yes, you did."

"I don't remember."

"That's because you were about as high as a kite."

"Oh." Jimmy giggled. "Well, what was your answer?"

"None of your fuckin' business."

Jimmy thought about this for a moment. "Does that mean that you aren't going to tell me or was that really your answer?"

Bender glared at him and Jimmy nodded understandingly. "Sorry, I was just wonderin'."

Bender sighed and glanced over at Roger, who was watching him calmly as he finished his cigarette. Bender shuffled nervously and picked up his beer again, not daring to make eye contact.

"Oh, shit!" Roger and Bender both turned to see Jimmy with his eyes clenched shut and his hands clutching the side of his face. Bender glanced over at Roger, who shrugged.

"What's up, man?"

"Oh, fuck, man…" Jimmy ran his fingers through his short blond hair and began rocking back and forth. "Oh, fuck…"

"What's going on, Jimmy?" Bender forced the words out of his mouth because he had a feeling that he already knew what was wrong. He'd seen Jimmy like this before and it usually only meant one thing.

"My step dad's home…" Jimmy was rocking faster and faster, eyes tightly shut. His hands gripped his head so hard that his knuckles were turning white. Bender exhaled, suspicions confirmed. He turned to Roger, who had finished his cigarette and was watching the scene with a detached intensity. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes as Jimmy continued rocking and muttering quietly to himself.

"I'll take you home." Roger spoke quietly, but the words seemed to echo around them, bouncing off the sheets of metal below. He stood up from his seat on the merry-go-round and walked over to where Jimmy was sitting curled up in a ball. He gently unwrapped Jimmy's arms from around his legs and pulled him forward on the seat. Bender rose to help them, but Roger shook his head. "I've got him."

Bender nodded and stepped back as Roger pulled Jimmy to his feet and steadied him with his right arm. Tear tracks stained Jimmy's pale cheeks, but he wasn't crying anymore. He stood silently, head bowed, resigned and afraid. Roger turned back to Bender. "See you tomorrow."

Bender nodded. "Yeah…see you."

Roger guided Jimmy away from the merry-go-round and towards the street. Bender watched them fade into the darkness until he couldn't see them anymore. Then he settled back on the merry-go-round, leaned his head back on the metal bar, and finished his beer.

* * *

Allison leaned forward, head bowed over the paper in front of her. A piece of hair fell into her face and she blew it away, too focused to bother with it. The picture in front of her was more important than anything else in that moment. Anything.

She squinted as she shaded a crevice near the top of the peak. _That's my cave._ She stuck her tongue out as she concentrated, careful not to make it too dark. Not easy with pens. If only she still had the drawing she'd been working on in her history class. She'd almost finished it by last period.

A door slammed downstairs and Allison jumped, startled by the unexpected noise in such a quiet house. Her pen darted forward, creating a dark line, like the tail of a comet, that cut through the top of the mountain. Allison roared in anger and flung her pen across the room, where it clattered against the wall and fell behind her desk. She stared at the paper in front of her, ruined by an errant noise and a stupid mistake, then crumpled it into a ball and threw it at her desk, where it joined the pen.

Allison leaned back against the foot of her bed, resting her hands on the carpet. _Don't cry. You promised yourself you wouldn't. _But she could feel the tears coming and knew she couldn't avoid them. She pushed herself onto her knees and crawled across the floor to the side of her bed, where her messenger bag was propped against her nightstand. She rummaged through it, found what she was looking for, and climbed up onto her bed, where she leaned against her headboard.

Allison was not heavy into activities and she definitely didn't participate in sports. So, obviously, she'd never earned a patch for her letter jacket. Not that she owned one of those either. Her parka was sufficient; after all, what good would a letter jacket be on Mount Kilimanjaro?

Still, she could understand the draw. The honor, the glory, the recognition. Especially the recognition. She smoothed the tips of her fingers lightly over the stitching and took a deep breath. It wasn't even hers, the patch. She'd stolen it, like she'd done with so many other things in recent years. At least this person knew she'd done it, even if he didn't care about her.

Allison felt her breathing become ragged and her throat tighten up. _No tears! _She spun around to the window above her bed and pulled it open, releasing a shot of cold air into her room. Before she could stop herself, she threw Andy's patch out of the window and into the darkness, where it landed somewhere in the backyard. Then she slammed the window shut and turned off the lamp beside her bed. She felt a tear trickle down her cheek and she brushed it away angrily. Curling herself into a fetal position, she tucked her legs against her chest and pulled the blanket over her head, praying that sleep would come quickly.


	9. Making Amends

A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews. Keep 'em up!

* * *

Chapter 9: Making Amends

* * *

Brian checked his watch for the eighth time in one hour, hoping that this time it would show him what he wanted to see. 11:19. _Jeez, could time crawl by any slower? I mean, I know that it isn't physically possible for time to speed up; that defies the laws of physics. It's only in our minds that time can slow down or speed up. But, even then, it doesn't literally change speeds. It's just that-_

"All right, people, listen up!" Mr. Douglas walked toward the center of the shop so that everyone had a clear view. "I'm only gonna say this once, so you'd better pay attention. You have only two weeks to complete this project. Two weeks and not a minute longer! Now, I noticed some of you screwing around this period." He shot a knowing look to a group of jocks in the back of the room. "You'd better not make it a habit, is all I've got to say about that. Not if you don't want to fail."

The word fail sent shivers down Brian's spine and he sat up a little bit straighter in his seat. Mr. Douglas smoothed his hands over his stained button-up work shirt and looked around the room. "Is everyone clear on the instructions for this next project?" No one said anything, so he nodded. "Alright, we'll resume work on it tomorrow. And I mean _work_." With a final withering stare at the group in the back, Mr. Douglas turned and walked back to his desk at the front of the room.

Brian glanced down at the paper in front of him. It seemed simple enough, at least on the surface. A small table with four legs and some sort of detailed trim along the sides. He'd spent the entire period looking through samples of decorative trim in a binder Mr. Douglas had set out for them to use as inspiration. He tried to find something that looked relatively easy, and finally decided on a crown molding look with scrolls on the four corners. He stared at the picture and sighed. _At least it's not a lamp. Or an elephant._

The bell rang suddenly, cutting into his thoughts. He stood up and got his bag together, stepping into the aisle. One of the jocks from the back edged past him, knocking him sideways into a table. He snickered as he walked by, but didn't say anything. Brian pursed his lips together in anger, then collected himself and made his way to the cafeteria.

Larry and David were already at the table when he arrived. He set his bag on the floor by his feet and sat down opposite his friends. "Hey, fellas. How's it goin'?" He forced himself to sound cheerful, though he wasn't sure it had worked.

David took the bait. "Good. I talked to Mr. Waverly this morning. Guess who's maybe gonna be at the convention!"

"Uh..."

"Robert Stewart!"

Brian frowned. "The singer?"

David's mouth dropped open in horror. "Not _Rod _Stewart! _Robert _Stewart! He's the guy that flew the Manned Maneuvering Unit back in February. Remember when I brought that article to school for us to read? This is going to be totally awesome."

Brian nodded and took out his lunch. Tomato soup again. He sighed and looked at David's uneaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "Trade?"

David eyed the thermos. "Tomato again?" Brian nodded dejectedly and David considered his options. "Yeah, okay." He passed the sack across the table and accepted Brian's soup.

"So, you'll never guess who came up to me after first period today." Brian looked up from his sandwich to find Larry watching him. "Guess."

Brian swallowed nervously. "Uh, the girl from _Flashdance_?"

David laughed. "She's such a babe."

"Nice try, but you're still wrong. It was Andrew Clark."

Brian choked on his sandwich, a chunk of peanut butter lodged at the back of his throat. He looked up at Larry, who was watching for his reaction. Brian took a sip of apple juice to clear his throat and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Really?" It came out as more of a squeak than a question.

"Yeah. He wanted to apologize for what happened last week." Larry paused, letting the information soak in.

Brian glanced across the table at David, who was watching the scene silently. David took a sip of milk and leaned forward. "That's interesting."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too."

"I guess he realized he'd made a mistake, huh?" David asked, setting his milk carton on the table.

Larry glared at Brian. "Maybe. Or maybe someone made him do it."

"Well, did he sound sincere?"

Larry paused uncomfortably. "I don't know. Maybe. But I can't imagine that he'd really be sorry about it. Those guys are such jerks." Larry picked up his ham sandwich and took a bite, signaling the end of the discussion.

Brian exhaled and looked back at David, who had started in on Brian's soup. He shot Brian a reassuring glance and continued eating. Brian looked down at the sandwich in his hand and sighed. _That went well._

* * *

Claire winced as a metal bar from the bleacher dug into her shoulder blade. "Ow!" The exclamation came out a bit garbled, as John Bender's mouth pressed firmly against hers when it came out.

He leaned back, eyes wide. "What did I do?"

"Nothing, it was this pole. Why do we always have to do this out here?"

"Well, where would you like to do it? In the cafeteria?" Claire narrowed her eyes at him, but he just smirked, pretending not to notice. "Oh, or how 'bout Vernon's office? I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"Ha, ha. Very funny." Claire leaned back against the pole again, this time more carefully. Bender pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered her one. "No, I don't smoke." He lifted his eyebrows doubtfully and she blushed. "Well, not normally anyway."

He sat down in the grass beside her feet and lit the cigarette. She lowered herself beside him and leaned her head back against the pole. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Claire, who had been picking at her nails, finally looked up, noticing the faraway look in his eyes.

"What are you thinking about?"

Bender jumped slightly. "Nothing." He shifted uncomfortably and took another drag on his cigarette.

"No, really. I want to know."

He released a puff of smoke and grinned awkwardly. "I was…I was just thinking about the look on your face if Vernon ever caught us out here."

"Gee, thanks."

"No problem." Inside of the school, the bell rang. Bender finished his cigarette and stood up, squashing the butt with the toe of his boot. Claire rose also, brushing the dirt off of her skirt and digging into her purse for her lipstick.

"Are you going to class?"

Bender glanced over at the building and wrinkled his nose. "Not now."

Claire waited for him to say something else, but he didn't. Instead, he rummaged around in his pocket for another cigarette. She sighed and leaned over to give him a peck on the lips. He smiled and lit the cigarette. "Play nice with the other kids."

She smirked and started walking towards the building. As she walked, she racked her brain, trying to remember if she had any homework due in History. Not that it mattered very much at this point, anyway. _I really should have been studying last night instead of experimenting with my new eyeliner…_

"Well, well, what have we here?"

Claire stopped short and looked up to see Mr. Vernon glaring at her from the sidewalk outside of the entrance to the school. He adjusted the buttons on his brown polyester blazer and walked closer. "Care to explain why you're wandering around school grounds when you should be on your way to class?"

"I…I was…taking a shortcut."

Mr. Vernon sneered. "Do you think I was born yesterday? Now, get to class!" He stepped aside and let her slide past. She sighed with relief. _That was close._

"Oh, and Miss Standish?"

Claire turned at the doorway and waited.

"I'll see you next Saturday…in detention."

* * *

As soon as the bell rang signaling the end of lunch, Allison threw her unfinished sandwich into her bag and jumped down from the lowest limb. She didn't bother to leave any sunflower seeds for the squirrels, as she'd forgotten to pack them that morning. When she was back inside the building, she headed straight for her locker to find more paper. She'd run out during her third period class and, for lack of anything better to do, was forced to pay attention to the lesson. _I won't make that mistake twice._

"Hey," someone spoke softly into her ear. She jumped and whirled around, eyes wide.

Andy took a step backwards. "Sorry…I didn't mean to scare you."

"What do you want?"

Andy ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I guess that answers that question."

"What question?"

"Whether or not you're still mad at me."

Allison slammed her locker door and turned her body to face his. She didn't speak, only glared at him. He stared back, jaw clenched, and shook his head in disbelief. "Why are you so afraid of me?"

"I'm not afraid! You're the one who's afraid to be seen with any of us!"

"Yeah, well, what do you think I'm doing now, huh?" He swept his arm in the direction of the hallway, indicating the other students passing by on the way to class. A few of them were watching Andy and Allison with mild interest, though none were gawking. He took a small step closer to her and she flinched. "I'm making the gesture, alright? I'm standing in the middle of a crowded hallway talking to you like a normal person. What else do you want from me?"

Allison swallowed. "I don't know."

Andy nodded, his eyes softening. "Well, when you figure it out, let me know, alright?" He reached into the duffel bag he had slung over his shoulder and pulled out a small bag. He handed it to her and Allison accepted it uncertainly. She watched him walk away, weaving in and out of the throngs of nerds and jocks and loners and jokers and nice girls and bad boys until he blended in completely, disappearing from her sight.

She took a moment before opening the sack, afraid of what she might find and even more afraid of what it would mean. But eventually she could stand the suspense no longer and peeked inside. When she saw its contents, she allowed herself a tiny smile as her throat tightened with emotion. With trembling fingers, she reached in and pulled out Andy's gift.

Pixie sticks.


	10. Explanations

A/N: Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 10: Explanations

* * *

Bender spent fourth period playing with matches and chain smoking under the bleachers. He didn't want to go to class, but he had to admit that anything would be better than sitting outside alone. So, about ten minutes before the bell rang signaling the end of fourth period, Bender snuck back into the building, keeping an eye out for teachers demanding to see his hall pass. He made his way down the hall to his locker, where he kept extra packs of cigarettes. Since all of his dope was gone, the cigarettes were the only things in his locker of any value, unless you counted the textbooks, which he didn't.

It was a good thing that his stash had been depleted, however, since the lock on his locker door was missing. Bender cursed when he saw this and opened the door to see what had been stolen. Nothing, it seemed. At least his other security features were functioning properly.

"Damn it." Bender kicked the locker closed with his foot and stood staring at the orange paint and the black letters scrawled across the door. _Who would steal fuckin' lock, then not take anything else? _The answer came so swiftly that he had to laugh. _Of course. _He started off down the hall to get his lock back.

Carl, the janitor, was emptying a giant trash barrel just outside of the cafeteria. A sack of potato chips fell over, spilling onto the linoleum, and Carl bent over to pick them up, cursing. Bender grinned at the sight and couldn't resist a light jab. "Tired of sweepin' up after us shitheads yet?"

Carl turned around and grinned. "No, John, just you."

"Oh, I'm hurt."

Carl laughed and leaned against the broom he was holding. "What do you want?"

"I…" Bender leaned forward ominously. "…want my lock back."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"You know what I'm talkin' about, Carl."

"Enlighten me."

"'I look through your letters, I look through your lockers…'" Bender smiled. "Sound familiar?"

"Yes, it does. Now can I get back to work?"

Bender frowned. "No! I want my lock back!"

"Look, kid, is this some kind of game or something'? Cause I ain't no mind reader."

Bender sighed. "Someone stole my lock. I thought it was you."

"What would I want with _your_ lock?"

"I don't know. Why would you want to look in _our_ lockers?"

Carl glared at him. "Touché. I still don't have it." He turned back to the mess on the floor and started sweeping the chips into a pile.

"Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?"

"What am I, God? Go ask Vernon. I'm sure he'd love to help you keep your drugs safe."

Bender's eyes widened. "Who said I keep drugs in there?"

"Well, I know you ain't worried about no textbooks."

"Touché to you, too, then."

Carl looked up from the mess on the floor and sighed. "Fine. Let's go." He brushed past Bender and started off down the hall.

"Where are you going?"

Carl didn't say anything, but kept walking. Bender glanced uncertainly at the broom and the overflowing trash can, then ran to catch up. Carl stopped when he reached the janitor's closet, then yanked open the door and disappeared inside. Bender peered around the edge of the doorframe to get a glimpse of the room. It was small, but functional, and filled with cleaning solutions, extra brooms and mops, a few chairs stacked in the corner and old wooden shelves lines with boxes. Carl pulled one of the smallest boxes down and presented Bender with its contents. "Blue or pink?"

Bender pulled out a combination lock with a blue dial. "I don't think pink's really my color."

"Suit yourself." Carl replaced the box and yanked a cord hanging from the ceiling, turning the light off. He locked the door behind him, giving Bender a knowing look as he finished. "To protect my stuff from shitheads like you."

Bender grinned as Carl started back towards the cafeteria. "Thanks, Carl."

Carl didn't say anything, only flipped him the bird over his shoulder. Bender laughed and walked back to his locker to replace the missing lock.

* * *

Andy looked up and down the hall uncertainly, praying for a miracle. Finding one person in a school filled with hundreds was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Or, in this case, a nerd in a haystack. Or something.

Andy craned his neck over the crowd, cursing his lack of height. After a few minutes of searching, he saw Brian at his locker putting books away. Andy strode purposely towards him, ignoring the voice in his head that told him not to bother.

"Hey, man."

Brian jumped slightly, turning to face him. He didn't even try to hide his surprise. "Oh, hey." Andy noted that Brian didn't seem as angry as he had the day before.

"Um…well, I just came to talk with you…you know, about yesterday." Andy pushed his hands nervously into the pockets of his jeans. Brian didn't say anything, so he continued. "Like I said, I'm really sorry about what those guys did and what I did…or didn't do, I guess. I still want us to be friends, you know?"

Brian nodded. "Yeah." They stood there for a moment, watching the crowd thin out as students grabbed books and papers and people before escaping into the real world.

"It's so different from Saturday, you know?" Andy asked, leaning against the row of lockers. "Being here with all these other people."

"I know. It's like we were in a vacuum or something."

"Like a vacuum cleaner?"

"No, like in physics." Andy appeared confused, so Brian went on. "A vacuum is essentially space without matter in it. The air around us is filled with chemicals and elements like Nitrogen, Oxygen, water vapor, carbon dioxide, etc. In a vacuum, there aren't any of these things, creating a perfect environment. Things that couldn't exist anywhere else can thrive in a vacuum. No hydrocarbon contamination, the gas density is stable-"

"Brian!" Brian blinked, but stopped talking. Andy sighed. "Care to run that by me again, this time in English?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. It's like…it's like detention was this perfect environment without anything in there to screw it all up. We wouldn't have talked or become friends _here_." He nodded towards the last few students making their way out to the parking lot to leave. "But on Saturday, the conditions were perfect. No outside forces working against us. Back here in the real world, it's not going to be the same. We've all got these different pressures. School, friends, family…sports." Brian nodded at Andy's letter jacket. "Of course it's going to be harder."

Andy nodded slowly. "I think I understand…sort of."

Brian smiled. "Really?"

"I said sort of, okay? Don't get you hopes up too far." Andy smiled and checked his watch. "I've gotta get to wrestling practice. I'll see you around, though, okay?"

"Sure, I'll see you around."

Andy hit Brian lightly on the shoulder and started off towards the gym. His friend John was walking down the hall from the opposite direction, looking past him at Brian. "Hey, man. I came to collect you so Coach won't get pissed off again and take it out on the whole team." He grinned. "Who was that?"

"His name is Brian."

"He doin' your math homework for you? I know how much you hate geometry!"

Andy glared at John. "No, you asshole, he's my friend. He's a good guy."

"Your friend? Why?" Andy, eyes blazing and jaw clenched, opened his mouth to speak, but John beat him to it. He held up his hands in mock surrender and chuckled. "Okay, okay! Jeez, lighten up, Clark." Andy didn't move and John stopped smiling. "Look, sorry, okay? Let's just get to practice before Coach blows another gasket."

Andy turned away and started walking down the hall, forcing John to jog for a few steps to catch up. They walked side by side until they reached the doors of the gymnasium, neither of them saying a word.

* * *

A/N: In Andy's section, Brian describes a vacuum. Now, I am not a science whiz, so I got all this info from encyclopedia dot com and the University of Wisconsin in Osh Kosh physics dept. website. Just wanted to give credit where it's due. 


	11. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

A/N: This is a short chapter, but the next one will be much longer.

* * *

Chapter 11: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

* * *

Bender pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and removed one of the last sticks. "I think this is a record."

"What is?"

"The amount of cigarettes I've smoked today." Bender offered the pack to Roger, who shook his head. "At this rate, I'll either have to kick the habit or find a real job to pay for them."

"I can't see either one happening."

Bender laughed. "Me neither. You got any more work for me?"

"Not right now. It's been a slow week."

Bender nodded and looked up at the twilight sky, blue and purple and grey, like a bruise. He pulled a matchbook out of his pocket and struck the match along the base of the merry-go-round. "How's work going?"

"Like shit. How's school?"

"I don't know. I make it a point not to go." Bender waved the match in the air and watched the flame go out.

"You should, you know."

"I should what?"

"Go to school more often."

Bender scoffed. "What the fuck for? To get ready for my cushy desk job at the accounting firm? I don't think so."

Roger didn't say anything. Bender glanced over at his friend, who had his head leaned back against the merry-go-round's center pole. They sat in silence for a few minutes until Bender flicked his cigarette into the dirt and pulled the pack out of his shirt for another.

"You're gonna get cancer someday, John."

"Hypocrite."

"Asshole."

"Dickwad." Bender grinned and used the bottom of Roger's shoe to light his match, earning himself a kick in the knee. "Ow!"

"You deserved it."

"I usually do." Bender took a deep drag on the cigarette, filling his lungs with a satisfying rush of nicotine.

"How's Tracy?"

Bender jumped at the name and glanced over at Roger. "What made you think of her?"

"I don't know. How is she?"

Bender shifted nervously. "I don't know. I haven't seen her for a while."

"What about Gloria?"

"Nope."

"Ellen?"

"What is this, twenty questions?"

"I was just wondering."

"Well, don't."

On the other side of the park, a couple of younger boys chased each other around a tree. One of them screamed, then collapsed into a pile of giggles when the other tagged him and pushed him to the ground. The first boy hauled himself to his feet and started chasing his friend, starting the cycle all over again. Bender frowned. "What the hell are they doin' out here so late?"

"You sound like a parent."

"Not mine, I hope." Bender took another drag. "I'm just sayin', it's too dangerous for little kids, you know? Some of the people who hang around this park at night are fuckin' lunatics."

"Like us?"

Bender paused. "Maybe."

A few minutes passed by, with Bender smoking and Roger sitting silently, unreadable as always. Finally, Roger stood up. "I'm gonna get goin'. My sister's gonna be home soon and I don't want her there alone."

Bender nodded. "See you later, man."

Roger nodded and started walking towards the street, then stopped and turned back to his friend. "Hey, John?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful or you're gonna get hurt."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"I'm talkin' about that thing in your ear." Roger nodded in the direction of the diamond stud, sparkling like a star in the darkness. Bender reached up and rubbed the earring self-consciously.

"I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't."

"She's different."

Roger looked out across the park and shoved his hands into his pockets. "No one's different, John. We both know that." Without waiting for a response, Roger turned away from the merry-go-round and started walking towards the street. Bender watched him go, always the last to leave. He leaned back onto the bar of the merry-go-round, finished smoking the last of his pack, and watched the boys across the park play tag until it was too dark to see anything except for the glow of his cigarette.

* * *

At about 9:00 in the evening, Allison put away her pen and paper and crept downstairs. In the living room, the T.V. droned on, cutting through the silence. Allison went into the kitchen, where she poured herself a bowl of cereal and sat at the table to eat. As she did, her eyes wandered to the walls, where elementary and pre-school versions of herself smiled back. She let her eyes flicker over each one, trying to remember what it was like to be that young again. She had been once; these pictures proved it. But she couldn't remember the last time she played on a jungle gym or ate play-doh or climbed onto her father's back for a piggy back ride.

A burst of laughter erupted from the living room. Allison froze uncertainly before realizing that it was only the television. She took a deep breath and finished her cereal, then rinsed it out in the sink. She was ready to go back upstairs to her room when she looked over at the back door leading out to the garage and the backyard.

A few seconds later, she closed the door behind her and stepped out onto the back porch. She stood still for a moment, arms wrapped around herself for protection from the cold, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. Then she ventured further, out into the lawn, and looked up her window, where she could see the outline of her bedposts against the glow of her lamp. She walked closer to the house, where hedges lined the outside of the building, and peered into the shadows, hoping for a glimpse of red and gold.

And it was there, apparently right where it had landed the night before, in a bush directly below her window, peeking out from behind a clump of leaves. She reached forward and plucked it from the hedge, then held it up to the night sky, where the moonlight shone down on it like a spotlight. State Champion. She let her fingers brush over the stitching, memorizing every detail.

_What if I'm not any good at this? What if I scare him away? _She traced the letters with her thumb. S…T… _What if he decides I'm not worth it? What if I get my hopes up and it doesn't work out? _A…T… E… _I just don't want to be alone anymore._

Allison swallowed and pushed the patch into her pocket. She'd keep it, for now anyway. One last glimpse of the night sky and she was back inside, where the television laughed harder than any of the people.


	12. Chance Encounters

A/N: Are there any Dead Zone fans out there? Just curious. For those who don't know what I'm talking about, The Dead Zone is this really good series on USA Network starring Anthony Michael Hall (Brian). I'm a little obsessed with it, I'll be honest. Anthony is, um, incredibly hot. Who would have thought he would end up looking so gorgeous? As usual, it's all in the eyes. Anyway, in case you're trying to remember how much time has passed, this chapter starts out on Wednesday morning around lunchtime. Read and review!

* * *

Chapter 12: Chance Encounters

* * *

Andy adjusted the strap of his gym bag, which he'd slung over his left shoulder. He was on his way to his third period wrestling practice, which he was not looking forward to. Coach was nervous about this weekend's match and was drilling the team harder than ever. _'You call that effort? Well, I call it shit!' _Andy shook the image out of his head and took a breath to prepare himself mentally.

When he looked up, he saw Allison standing outside of the gym doors, looking incredibly nervous. Her eyes kept darting around, as though she were expecting someone to walk up and ask her why she was standing in front of the gym all by herself. She wore her long grey skirt and tights, but had paired it with a black sleeveless shirt. Her jacket and scarf were nowhere to be seen, but her bag was bulging even more than usual, giving her away. As a crowning touch, she had brushed her hair and held it back with the headband Claire had given her on Saturday. He smiled and approached her.

"What are you doing here?"

Allison jumped in surprise. "I was…waiting for you."

"How did you know where I'd be?"

"I was hoping." She didn't say anything more and he didn't ask.

"You look nice."

Allison smiled nervously and adjusted her shoulder strap. "Thank you."

They stood silently for a moment, both suddenly nervous. Allison stared at her feet and Andy stared at her. He felt his stomach tighten as a wave of affection rolled over him. She looked so…fragile. Uncomfortable and scared and happy and fragile. A part of him wanted to reach out and take her hand, to hold onto it until it stopped trembling, but he didn't.

"I have to go to wrestling practice."

Allison looked up from her shoes and nodded, looking even more as though she regretted coming.

"But…maybe we could go do something later, just the two of us." Andy watched her eyes widen in surprise. "I mean, I have wrestling practice after school, but maybe after-"

"I'll wait."

He paused. "Are you sure? I mean, it's not over 'til five. You'll be waiting for more than an hour."

"That's okay." Her voice trembled slightly, but he could sense her determination.

"Alright. Well, I guess I'll meet you out here after, okay?" She nodded and he smiled. "Okay."

He watched her walk down the hallway, her overstuffed knapsack knocking against her hip. When she disappeared into a classroom about halfway down the hall, he smiled to himself and pushed open the gym doors. So much for mental preparation.

* * *

Brian wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and plucked his pencil out of his shirt pocket. _They're just numbers, Brian. Just numbers. Focus, you can't do this. _He took a deep breath to clear his head. The pencil shook as wrote down a few numbers on the paper in front of him. He did some quick math in his head and sighed in relief when he got the answer he was hoping for.

Brian leaned back in his seat and stared at the pile of lumber on the floor by his feet. In no less than 13 days, that pile had to look like a table. With routed edges. And scrolls on the corners. _Impossible. I'll be lucky if I can even lift it all onto the table, much less make it into one. _He glanced at the paper again, checking the math once more. He knew that if he screwed that up, he would not only run out of wood, but he would also feel really stupid. He was secretary of the Math Club, for crying out loud.

Twenty minutes later, he was still trying to figure out how the table saw worked. Just as he thought he might have it figured out, the lunch bell rang. Brian groaned in frustration and put his supplies away, hoping that he would actually be able to get something accomplished on Thursday.

On the way to his locker, Brian spotted Claire coming out of Mr. Waverly's classroom with her purse slung over her shoulder and a textbook in one arm. She looked tired and fidgety at the same time, if that were possible. He started to walk up and say hello, but decided against it, remembering his disastrous reunion with Andy in the cafeteria on Monday. However, before he could walk away, Claire noticed him standing there. "Brian!"

He blushed and smiled nervously. "Oh, hey, Claire."

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"Um, I'm just going to lunch. What are you doing?"

Claire paused. "Oh, yeah, me, too."

"So, you have a class with Mr. Waverly?"

"Yeah, how did you…"

"Physics Club."

"Oh, right." Claire lifted her book slightly in the air. "I'll bet you actually understand most of this stuff, huh?"

He chuckled. "Well, I mean…"

"No, really. You're so smart when it comes to all this stuff and I just don't get any of it." Claire rolled her eyes and smiled.

Brian knew what she was doing. She'd done it on Saturday, too. "You're flattering me…"

"Well, I-"

"…because you want me to help you out."

Claire faltered, then sighed. "Am I that transparent?" He laughed. "Dumb question. So, would you mind?"

He shook his head. "No. Do you want to, you know, like, meet sometime and go over some stuff? I mean, we don't have to meet. I could, you know, I could write you some notes or something. I-"

"We could meet."

"Oh…um, okay."

"What about after school?"

"Today?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, but the library closes at 3:30."

"So, we'll just go to McDonald's or something."

"You want to study at McDonald's?"

Claire laughed. "Sure, why not?"

Brian wrinkled his nose. "I don't know. I guess I've just never thought of doing that."

"It'll be more fun that way."

"Oh…well, okay. Do you have a car?"

"Yeah, my dad let me borrow his this morning."

"Cool. Um, I guess I'll see you after school, then. Do you want me to, I mean, do you want me to meet you here?"

"Sounds great. Thanks so much, Brian."

Brian nodded and waved to her as she left. He assumed that she was going to her locker since the cafeteria was right down the hall in the opposite direction. He shrugged and headed over to his own locker to get his lunch.

* * *

Claire stopped at her locker quickly, not to retrieve her lunch, but to get rid of the 800-pound textbook she'd been lugging around for the past hour. She threw it on the shelf next to her other books and checked her make-up in the tiny mirror glued to the locker door. Her lipstick was smudged a little bit, so she dug around in her purse and reapplied it. _I don't know why I bother. It's not like it's going to stay there anyway._

Satisfied with her reflection, Claire slammed the door and replaced the lipstick in her purse. She glanced down the hall for any sign of Vernon, who apparently enjoyed making her life miserable. Hers and every other student's at Shermer High School. She still couldn't believe that she'd gotten detention again. Two Saturdays in a row! One Saturday was bad enough, but two…well, you just never know what kind of reputation you'll earn with a record like that. Not that Bender would help matters any if her friends ever found out about him. Two detentions in a row and guy like him spelled trouble no matter how you looked at it.

_It might actually be kind of fun. _She smiled despite herself as she ducked through the door leading outside to the athletic fields. Nine hours with John Bender. They wouldn't be alone, of course, but they'd gotten around that issue before and they could certainly manage it again.

As she got closer to the bleachers, Claire narrowed her eyes and peered in under the seats. No sign of Bender. She sighed, disappointed and confused. They hadn't exactly agreed to meet, but after two days it was almost understood that they would. She stood for a couple of minutes with her hands on her hips, then turned around and started back towards the school.

As she neared the doors she'd exited from, she suddenly caught sight of Vernon rounding the corner from the front of the school. Claire ducked instinctively and ran around the nearest corner leading to the back part of the building. She peered around the brick wall to see if Vernon had caught sight of her. He was standing outside of the door she'd been headed towards, straightening his tie and mumbling to himself. She sighed in relief and turned back around.

The back side of the building was empty except for a couple of doves pecking at some crushed cookies on the sidewalk. She looked around for a way back into the building, but couldn't find one. _Guess I'll have to go all the way around. _She started walking past the temporary buildings, where most of the shop classes, and even a couple of academic courses, were held.

Suddenly, Claire stopped dead in her tracks. Up ahead, Bender was sitting on the ground, leaning against one of the old buildings. Next to him was a smaller boy with short blonde hair and a t-shirt that was about three sizes too big for him. They weren't talking, only staring out at the field behind the building. She looked around again for a way back into the school. It would be weird to talk to him with his friends around; they hadn't really reached that stage yet and she wasn't sure how it would work out when they did. Well, if they did. It wasn't as though either of them knew what they were doing or how long it would last.

Claire glanced around for a place to pass the time while she waited for them to leave, or for the bell to ring. However, as she turned around, she accidentally kicked a Coke can that had fallen out of the garbage barrel. The can skittered across the pavement, scaring the doves and announcing her presence. She winced and glanced over to where Bender and his friend were sitting. Bender was staring at her as though he couldn't quite figure out who she was or why she was there. She walked over towards them, trying to cover up her embarrassment with a smile. "Hi."

Bender's eyes grew large, but he didn't speak. He greeted her with a nod.

"Sorry, I was just trying to find a way back inside. Vernon's on the other side of the building…near the athletic fields." Her face flushed as she realized that he knew why she'd been over there in the first place. She'd been looking for him and he hadn't been looking for her. How embarrassing! If her friends ever found out that she'd been chasing after a guy like John Bender…well, it wouldn't be pretty.

Bender's friend laughed at her confession, though she didn't understand why. Maybe Bender had told him about her and what they'd been doing under the bleachers for the past two days. She took a deep breath and tried to push the thought away. No need to jump to conclusions.

"There's a door over there behind that column. It leads to the south stairwell." Bender's voice betrayed nothing. He could have been talking to a stranger on the street asking for directions to the bus stop. She nodded vaguely and looked away, not eager to start a personal conversation around his friends.

"Dude, is that the girl who gave you the earring?" Bender's friend tried to whisper, but was unsuccessful. Bender's eyes widened in surprise and Claire's mouth dropped open, but the blonde boy was oblivious. He stared at Bender, waiting for a response.

"No, Jimmy. Just…look, stay here, alright?" Bender hauled himself to his feet and strode quickly over to where she was standing. He had grabbed her by the elbow and had started to lead her away when Jimmy spoke again.

"It's okay, man. Take your time." He grinned at the two of them and settled back against the building.

Claire turned to Bender, furious. "What did you tell him?"  
He didn't answer. Instead, he led her behind a nearby column, right next to a door marked EXIT. When they were alone, he released her arm. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I already told you. I was trying to find a way back into the building." She started to ask him why he hadn't met her under the bleachers, but bit her tongue before she could embarrass herself any further. "Why did your friend look at me that way?"

Bender glanced back at Jimmy, who was still sitting against the building, staring up at the sky. "What way?'

"Like…like we were about to go off and do something gross."

"'Something gross?' And what would that be?"

"You know what I mean."

"He wasn't looking at you like that."

"Oh, yeah?" Claire felt the anger bubbling up inside of her. "Then why was he smiling like some pervert, huh?"

Bender rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. "That's just what he's like, okay? If you knew him, you'd understand. He's not a pervert!"

"Yeah, I can see that. The first time he meets me, he makes lewd comments. Real classy."

Bender's eyes flared. "That's all that matters to you, isn't it, Claire? Whether or not someone has _class_." He scoffed. "Jimmy is a good person. A lot better than half of those bitches you call friends. He wasn't making a 'lewd' comment, or whatever the fuck you called it. He was just smiling like he always does. But you wouldn't know, because you've never talked to him before, have you?" He shook his head. "You're no different from the rest."

Claire's jaw trembled violently. "Yes, I am."

He scoffed. "Could've fooled me."

A tear escaped and flowed down her cheek. She brushed it away angrily. "You're an asshole."

"I guess that makes us even, then." He took a step backwards and pointed towards the door. "You better leave before you get caught talkin' to a pervert like me." He turned and walked back to the t-shack, where Jimmy was still sitting patiently.

Claire didn't need a written invitation. Brushing the remaining tears from her cheeks, she ran over to the door, pushed it open, and disappeared into the building.


	13. McDonald's

A/N: I had a hard time writing this chapter, especially Allison's section. Man, it's so hard to get into her head! She's got all of these different sides to her character that come out at different times, you know? It's hard to tell which sides would come out when. I'm so terrified of writing her out of character that it ends up taking me forever. Anyway, let me know what you think about that. I really want some feedback for this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 13: Dates, Real and Imagined

* * *

Brian glanced nervously at Claire for about the eighth time since they'd arrived at McDonald's. "So, um, if the speed is constant, you can, uh, you can figure out how long it will take before the train reaches its destination." He paused. "Does that make sense?"

Claire was staring at her drink, moving the straw up and down. She didn't seem to hear him. "Uh, Claire?"

She jerked her head up. "Yeah?"

"Am I that boring?"

She smiled sadly. "No. I mean, yes, probably. I don't know. I haven't been paying attention."

"Oh. Do you want me to explain it again?"

She leaned forward. "Is it okay if we don't study right now?"

"Oh, um…well, yeah, that's fine. What do you, I mean, do you want to just take me home?"

She shook her head and started playing with her straw again. "No. I don't want to be alone right now, you know?"

He didn't, but nodded anyway. "Yeah, yeah, no problem." They sat for a few minutes not saying anything, the only sound coming from Claire's straw rubbing against the plastic lid. Finally Claire looked up.

"Have you ever had a girlfriend, Brian?"

Brian blushed. "Uh, no…I mean, last year, I took Mary Elizabeth to the Physics' Club's end of year banquet. But, I mean, it was just that one time, you know?" He paused. "So, no, I haven't ever had a girlfriend."

Claire smiled. "That's too bad. I'm sure you'd be a great date."

Brian's eyes widened. "No. I mean, I wouldn't even, you know, I wouldn't even know what to do."

"Okay, so let's practice."

"Practice?"

"Yeah. You be you and I'll be a girl you like. Now, ask me out."

Brian stared at her. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. Now ask me out!"

Brian swallowed. "Um, okay." He took a deep breath and straightened his collar. "Hey, Claire…Wait, is your name still going to be Claire?"

She rolled her eyes. "It doesn't matter."

"Well, yes, it does because I'm going to have to call you something."

"Fine, it's Claire. Now, stop stalling."

"Okay." Brian rubbed his hands together and took another breath. "Um, hey, Claire. Uh, how are you doing?"

"Great, Brian. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. School's a little stressful, you know, and this one teacher's really-" He stopped short when he saw Claire glaring at him. "But, I mean, what I really wanted to know is…doyouwanttogooutsometime?" Brian let out a deep breath and settled back into the booth. "There. How was that?"

"That last part, was it Chinese or Russian?"

"Oh, I don't speak Chinese. My Dad taught me a little Russian, but I can't really-"

"No, the last part, when you asked me out. You said it all so quickly that I could hardly hear you."

"Oh."

"Try it again."

He sighed. "Okay. Um, Claire. Would you like to go out with me sometime?"

Claire beamed and clapped. "Perfect!"

Brian grinned. "Really?"

"Yeah, it was great. Now, where are we going?"

"Right now?"

"No! On our date."

Brian's eyes widened. "We're going on a date?"

Claire took a deep breath. "Our pretend date, remember? You just asked me o-" She paused. "Pretended to ask me out. Now, where are we going?"

"Oh! Well, uh, I guess we could come here."

"Never take a girl to McDonald's for a date."

"Why not?"

"Because it isn't romantic at all. Plus, you'll look like a cheapskate. Now, where else could you go?"

"To the movies?"

"Not very original, but that's okay. What about food?"

"Well, I don't know. I don't really eat out a lot."

Claire narrowed her eyes and considered his options. "Well, like I said, all fast food places are out. Restaurants are good if you have a lot of money to spend. How much do you have?"

"I have $987.52."

Claire's jaw dropped. "What?"

"$987.52."

"With you right now?"

"No, of course not. It's in a savings account."

"How do you have so much money?"

"I used to deliver newspapers when I was younger and my dad still gives me an allowance."

"Wow, that's a lot of money. You could buy yourself a car with all that."

Brian shook his head. "I wish. My parents won't let me take any money out. It's for college."

"That's too bad." Claire sighed. "Well, anyway, you could take your date to a diner or something. Not very romantic, but fun."

"Okay." He thought for a moment. "But what about the actual date? Like, what do I say and stuff?"

She laughed. "Let's work on the girl first, then we'll talk about the date."

"Okay." Brian paused. "But I don't know who I could ask."

She smiled. "That's okay. Maybe I'll set you up with someone."

He laughed, but the sound quickly died on his lips. "Wait, really?"

* * *

Allison stared at her reflection in the mirror in the girls' bathroom, checking for areas that needed improvement. In fact, she had been staring at herself for more than fifteen minutes, a personal record. The last time she'd done that was when she was five years old and liked to try on her mother's clothes while her mother was downstairs cooking dinner. The hats were her favorites, though she never could say why.

On Wednesday, the hats were replaced by a white headband. Allison reached up and flicked the white fabric flower, which looked to her like a huge marshmallow that had gotten stuck in her hair. She cringed and removed the headband, then rummaged through her knapsack until she found what she was looking for.

_There! _She grinned triumphantly when her hands closed around the small knife that she kept hidden at the bottom of the bag. It wasn't hers exactly; it was Bender's. She wasn't really sure why she'd taken it, only that it had called out for her to do so, like every other piece she'd taken. Most of her acquisitions went unused, though she was sure that she would need them someday. The knife, however, was needed today.

Allison jumped when the blade flicked out, nearing taking off one of her fingers. _That could have been bad… _She gripped the handle tightly and sawed off the flower from the headband. It came off cleanly, except for a few loose strings, which she also cut off. She threw the flower in the garbage, thought better of it, and retrieved it for collection. She put the headband back on and smoothed out her hair. Much better.

Allison checked her watch. 4:54. She took one final look at herself in the mirror and left the bathroom, making her way towards the gym. When she reached the double doors, she sat down against the wall and pulled her knapsack into her lap. And she waited.

At 5:12, Allison was still waiting. She didn't mind; she was far too nervous for that. She was also good at entertaining herself when she was alone. She had games that she would play in her head, like, 'How many times did you blink in one minute?' or 'Name every Prince song with the word 'baby' in the lyrics'. That afternoon, she didn't play any games or even draw. Instead, she stared at the wall and tried not to look at her watch.

Finally, at 5:18, the double doors burst open and Andy walked out, looking around for her. She reached out and grabbed his ankle, causing him to nearly fall on top of her. He let out a small yelp, but was able to catch himself.

He laughed. "What was that for?"

She smiled and pulled herself up from the floor. "For being late."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Coach made us stay after 'cause he's worried about the meet this Saturday." He rolled his eyes. "Are you ready?"

She nodded and he led her out to the parking lot, where his vehicle was parked. It was a light blue Ford Bronco, at least ten years old. He climbed into the driver's seat and turned to face her. "Uh, where do you want to go?"

"I don't know."

"Are you hungry?"

"Are you?"

Andy grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. Is it okay if we get something?"

She nodded and he put the Bronco into reverse. They pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. Allison glanced over at Andy, who was looking straight forward at the road. He looked over at her and she glanced away quickly, embarrassed. A couple of minutes later, she looked back again to find him watching her. This time, he was the one to look embarrassed.

When they got to McDonald's, Allison found a booth while Andy ordered for them and sat primly, hands folded in her lap and eyes focused on the seat across from her. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. _Is this a date? It feels like a date, but how should I know? Maybe he just felt bad because of what happened the other day and he's trying to make up for it. Or maybe…_

Andy plopped down on the other side of the booth and set a tray in between them. "Uh, I just got all this 'cause I didn't know what you…um, okay." Andy watched as Allison grabbed a vanilla milkshake and popped open the lid. She dipped a finger into the cold, white mixture and stuck it into her mouth. He laughed as she removed her finger, which had been wiped clean. "Uh, I guess I'll know what to get you next time."

Allison watched as Andy unwrapped a large hamburger dripping with ketchup. He ate it slowly and deliberately, as though it were a juicy piece of steak that was meant to be savored and enjoyed. After he finished the burger, he reached for a pack of fries, which he dipped in ketchup that had spilled from the burger.

Sensing her gaze, Andy looked up at Allison, who was watching him with unabashed interest. "What?"

"Why do you eat so much?"

Andy put another fry into his mouth. "Wrestling. I work out a lot, so I have to have fuel, you know?"

She nodded, then took a fry from his pile and dipped the salty stick into the frozen dessert. It tasted good; a little bit of sweetness, a little bit of saltiness, and just the right amount of crunch.

"Why do you eat such weird foods?"

"They're not weird."

He laughed. "Yes, they are. I don't know anyone who does that."

She jutted out her chin defiantly. "So?"

"Don't get mad! I'm just wondering."

Allison tucked her hands together under the booth. "I don't know. I've always done it, ever since I was really little."

"What were you like when you were little?"

Allison stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Andy reached for a pack of chicken nuggets. "You know. Like, were you adventurous or loud or, like, a daydreamer? What were you like?"

"What were you like?"

Andy paused. "Uh, well…I was kinda stupid, you know? I wanted to be Superman. Once, I made this red cape out of one of my mom's dresses. She was so mad at me!" He laughed at the memory. "And this girl that lived next door to me, I told her that she was Lois Lane and that we were going to get married."

Allison smiled. "What did she say about that?"

"She didn't say anything. She kissed me!"

Allison gasped. "She kissed you? Just like that?"

Andy grinned and pulled out another French fry. "Yeah. She said that if we were going to get married, we had to kiss each other." He shook his head. "I was so stupid, I believed her."

"I don't think that's stupid."

Andy swallowed his French fry and looked her in the eye. "You don't?"

She shook her head. "No," she said softly.

They stared at each other for a moment until Allison became nervous and started playing with her napkin. When she looked up again, he was still watching her intently, not moving. She smiled nervously. "What's wrong?"

His words were soft. "Nothing's wrong."

Allison hunched over the table nervously and went back to her milkshake. She tried, but couldn't keep the smile off of her face.


	14. Home?

A/N: I'm going a little bit out of order in this chapter. Bender's section was going to go in the last chapter, since it fit chronologically. However, it is a much better fit thematically in this one.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Home?

* * *

Bender didn't wait for Jimmy that afternoon. He wanted to get out of school as quickly as possible and Jimmy always seemed to make things harder than they needed to be. It wasn't as though he didn't know the way home, anyway; he was sixteen and he didn't need a babysitter. Besides, Bender wasn't in the mood to deal with Jimmy's questions. Or anyone else's for that matter.

He cut through the football field, then through a tiny middle class neighborhood right next to the school. He hated this part of his trip because it reminded him of what he didn't have. The small, cookie-cutter houses with station wagons in the garage and kids playing in the front yard. He hated them all, mostly because he wanted them so badly. He wanted to live in a house with a roof that didn't leak and a couch that didn't smell like urine and beer. He wanted a car that he could drive to school or use to take girls out on dates. Most of all, he wanted to be that kid playing superheroes and climbing trees in the front yard.

Maybe that was why he'd been so mad at Claire at lunch. It wasn't entirely because of Jimmy because, honestly, a lot of his girlfriends had been offended by his friend's odd personality. No, it had a lot to do with her seeing a part of his life that he didn't want her to see. Him hanging out by the t-shacks with no lunch and a guy who appeared to be stoned even when he wasn't.

_Why'd she have to show up there anyway? _Bender sighed angrily and kicked a stone with the tip of his boot. It skittered harmlessly into a nearby gutter, leaving him unsatisfied. He chose a larger stone and kicked it as hard as he could. It arched into the air only inches from the ground and landed on someone's front lawn, where it was sure to get sucked up by a lawnmower. He growled in frustration and started walking faster, eager to get out of the neighborhood.

His dad's truck was gone, so it was probably safe to go through the front door. However, his mom was probably home and he really didn't want to talk to her just then. So, he pushed open his window and hauled himself through the opening. He landed on the floor feet first (after years of landing on his knees or, once, his face) and turned around to close the window. Then he threw off his coat and turned on his tape player. He curled up in bed, boots and all, and fell asleep to the sounds of Judas Priest's 'Screaming for Vengeance'.

An hour and a half later, the tape was finished and the only sounds in the house were those of his parents screaming at one another. Bender woke when his mother threw a frying pan, or something equally as heavy, across the room, where it landed on the tile floor. He stared at the door, willing the sounds to go away and leave him in peace. When they didn't, he pulled himself out of bed and strode over to the tape player. He turned the tape over to side B and pushed play, then cranked up the volume. He listened closely and was satisfied when he could hear nothing except Rob Halford's angry vocals waiting to lull him back to sleep.

Back in bed, Bender lay on his side staring vacantly at the wall. The only furniture in his room was a bed, a nightstand he'd made in shop, and a small white dresser he'd had in his nursery when he was a baby. That was before his dad started drinking so much and they still had enough money to buy things like furniture and new clothes.

Besides furniture, he didn't keep much else in his room. He had sheets and an raggedy quilt his mother had made once upon a time. He also had an old guitar he kept in his closet that Roger had given him when he decided he wanted to be the next Jimmy Page, a dream that somehow never materialized. He didn't have many clothes, but the ones he did have were either piled on top of or folded up in his dresser.

Bender reached out and ran a finger over the edge of his nightstand. He was proud of the nightstand. So proud, in fact, that he hadn't shown a soul. He'd carried it home from school in a giant garbage bag on a dolly he'd borrowed (without permission) from Mr. Douglas's closet. He had been careful not to make too much noise when he hauled it through his window. In fact, he'd almost broken the table and his back getting it through the small opening, but it had been worth it. The piece reminded him that at least he was good at _something_.

The first song on the tape ended and the stereo was silent for a few seconds before track two started. More screaming burst in from the living room, wrecking his calm. He grabbed his pillow and pulled it over his head, covering his ears and blocking out the world.

* * *

Claire glided her father's 1982 Buick LaSabre into the 4-car garage right between his Mercedes and his BMW. She grabbed her purse and ran into the house.

Claire's mother, Barbara, was in the kitchen drinking a glass of wine. When Claire walked in, she set it on the kitchen counter and smiled. "You're home late."

"Yep."

"What did you do this afternoon."

"Nothing, just hung out."

"Were you with Natasha?"

"No."

Her mother looked disappointed. "Oh. That's too bad. I like Natasha."

"It's not like we aren't friends anymore, Mother. I just wasn't with her today."

Mrs. Standish took another sip of wine. "Who were you with?"

"His name is Brian."

Her mother's eyes lit up. "Oh, a boy! I didn't realize you were dating someone, sweetie. You should bring him by the house sometime. I'll have Martha fix us that shrimp and-"

"Mom! He's not my boyfriend, okay?"

"Oh."

Claire sighed. "I'm not dating anyone right now."

"Well, I don't see why not. You're beautiful, Claire. Not unlike your mother, I might add." Mrs. Standish smiled coyly and winked.

Claire rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I'm going to my room."

"Why don't we go watch a movie together or something?" Mrs. Standish set the nearly empty wine glass on the counter and rounded the counter until she stood in front of her daughter.

"I don't want to watch a movie, Mother."

"Well, then stay and eat. I'm sure you're starving. Martha left us some linguine with garlic butter sauce. It's superb."

"I'm not hungry either."

"So, we'll just talk, alright?" Her mother's eyes and voice were desperate. "We never talk anymore, sweetie. I just want to hear how you're doing. Friends, boys, school, everything." She smiled sadly. "What do you say?"

Claire paused, torn. "I'm really tired."

Her mother's face fell. "Oh…well, if you're tired."

"Some other time maybe."

"Yes…some other time." Mrs. Standish floated back into the kitchen, where she poured herself another glass from a large bottle of red wine sitting on the counter.

"Mother…how much wine have you had today?"

"Oh, not much. This is only my second glass."

Claire eyed the bottle suspiciously. The bottle on the counter was over half empty and she knew that her mother never saved wine once she'd opened it. "Mom, I think you've probably had enough already."

"Oh, is that right?" Her mother's eyes were suddenly blazing with anger. "You're only seventeen! What the hell do you know?"

Claire glared at her. "I know that most people don't finish off an entire bottle of wine every single day."

"Shut up!"

"What?"

"I said shut up! Get out of here!" Mrs. Standish gestured towards the stairs leading upstairs towards the bedrooms. "I don't want to see you anymore!"

Claire shook her head angrily and ran upstairs. When she reached her room, she flung herself on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Two rejections in one day. Didn't anyone want her around? And what had she done wrong? Stuck up for herself? Tried to make things better? How come it always seemed to backfire?

Claire lay sprawled out on her bedspread for a good half hour, listening to the clock on her wall and trying to imagine how she could have made things better, with both John and her mother. Just as she started to drift off to sleep, a door slammed downstairs. Her eyes flew open and she sat straight up in bed. She could hear her father talking to her mother downstairs. Her mother, she knew, was primed for an argument and the wine wouldn't help matters any.

As the voices grew louder, Claire leapt out of bed and shut her door. Then she strode over to her closet and surveyed her wardrobe, which was thankfully left unharmed by her concerns from the previous weekend. She ran her fingers along the silk shirts and leather jackets and denim skirts, attempting to channel positive energy from the expensive fabrics. When it didn't work, she closed the closet door and laid down on the floor, where she fell asleep next to her shoe collection.

* * *

Andy shut the door to his Bronco and swung his gym bag over his shoulder. He walked up the stone path leading to the front door and pushed it open. The smell of baked chicken floated in from the kitchen, but he was too full from hamburgers and milkshakes to take much notice. He dropped his bag by the front door and walked into the kitchen.

"You'd better not leave that bag by the front door."

"Hello to you, too, mom."

Carol Clark glared at her son as she opened the refrigerator door. "I mean it, Andrew. If you want me to wash your clothes, you leave them by the washer."

Andy rolled his eyes and reached past her to grab a carton of milk. "Yes, ma'am."

His mother smirked and closed the door, nearly crushing his elbow. "How was school?"

"Fine."

"Practice?"

"Fine."

"Are you hungry?"

He shook his head and took a sip of milk straight from the carton. "No, I ate after practice."

Mrs. Clark grabbed the carton from him and retrieved a cup from the cabinet above the sink. "Did you go with John?"

"No."

"Oh. Roy?"

"No."

She handed him the cup of milk and put the carton back in the fridge. "Who'd you go with?"

"No one."

"So, you went by yourself?"

"No."

"Hmmm." She looked at him closely, then started wiping down the counter with a wet rag. "Well, next time you see her, bring her by the house. I'd like to meet her."

Andy choked on his milk. "Mom!"

"Well, I would."

"I never said I was meeting a girl!"

She walked over to her son and ruffled his hair. "Andy, you didn't have to say a word to tell me what I needed to know." He scowled and ducked away.

"So, what's her name?" Andy looked up to see his 13-year-old sister, Nicole, standing in the doorway. He narrowed his eyes and took a sip of milk. "I'll bet it's something stupid like Candy or Bambi or Muffin."

"No, it's not!" The words flew from his mouth before he could stop them. He slammed his cup on the counter. "You're such a brat!"

"Andy!"

"_Sorry_, mom!" He said angrily, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Nicole smirked. "So, what is it, Andy? What's her name?"

"Forget it."

"Is she pretty? I'll bet she has blonde hair just like that other girl you-"

"Shut up, Nicole!"

"Andy! Stop yelling!"

"She started it! Tell her to stop being such a brat."

"Nicole, be nice to your brother."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not a reason."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not."

"She said it is. Now shut up."

"You shut up."

"Make me, half-pint."

"Would you two stop fighting?"

"He's the one being mean."

"Well, you're the one being annoying."

"You're both being annoying! If you're going to argue, don't do it in the kitchen."

"_I_ wasn't arguing. _I _was just drinking milk."

"Yeah, right."

"Shut_ up_, Nicole!"

"Andy!"

"_Sorry_, mom!"

"What's going on in here?"

Everyone looked up at the same time as Robert Clark walked into kitchen from the garage. Nicole blurted, "Andy's got a girlfriend!"

"Would you shut up!"

Mr. Clark glanced between the two of them, not sure which one to yell at first. He sighed and walked past them both. "Carol, where are the light bulbs?"

"In the pantry."

"I thought we kept them in the garage."

"I moved them."

"Why?"

"Dad! Andy has a girlfriend!"

Mr. Clark turned to his daughter and narrowed his eyes. "I heard you the first time."

Nicole scoffed. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Well, say something!"

He looked at his son. "Congratulations."

"I don't have a girlfriend."

"Yes, you do!"

"Nicole, please be quiet," said Mrs. Clark.

"Well, he does."

"No, I don't!"

Mr. Clark closed the pantry door, carrying an armload of light bulbs. "I'm putting these back in the garage."

"I wanted them in the house."

"The garage is part of the house."

"You know what I mean."

"I look for them in the garage."

"So, start looking for them in the house."

He sighed and left one of the packages on he counter. "Fine. Here."

"That's funny, Robert."

Mr. Clark looked at Andy. "How was practice?"

"Fine."

"It better be better than fine. That's a big meet this weekend, Sport."

"I know, Dad."

"So? Are you ready for it?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"I said yes, alright?"

Mr. Clark narrowed his eyes. "Don't be smart with me, Andy. Not about this."

Andy sighed. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, I'm putting these in the garage, where they belong."

"I'll move them later."

"Be my guest."

The door to the garage slammed and Mrs. Clark sighed. "That man."

Nicole huffed. "I'm going to my room."

"Do your homework."

"Yeah, right."

Mrs. Clark finished wiping off the counter and took the empty cup from Andy's hand. "He's just tired from work. He had a long day."

"Oh, yeah? What was his excuse yesterday? Or the day before that?"

"He's your father, Andrew. Show him some respect." Andy clenched his jaw, but remained silent. Mrs. Clark closed the dishwasher and turned it on. "He loves you." Andy scoffed, but still didn't say anything. "He does."

"No, Dad loves medals and trophies and championships and scholarships. He sure as hell doesn't love me."

"Watch your mouth!" Her eyes were blazing as she stepped towards him. "You don't _ever _say anything like that again, Andrew Clark! Do you hear me? Both of us love you very much and don't you ever think otherwise." Her eyes were angry, but moist. "Now, I know he may not show it very well, but your father cares about you. He wants you to have things that he never had."

"Like what?"

"Like a college degree."

Andy was silent. His mother reached over and took his face in her hands. "Win or lose, you're still our son." She kissed him on the forehead and released him, then turned back towards the dishwasher.

Andy stood still, not daring to move. "I can do my own laundry, you know."

"Then why don't you?" She wiped her bangs away from her face. "If you want anything to eat later, there's some chicken and rice left in the fridge."

He nodded. "Thanks, mom."

"You're welcome." She picked up the lone light bulb sitting on the counter and opened the pantry door, muttering something under her breath. Andy turned away from the kitchen and started down the hall towards his room.


	15. Fight

A/N: Ooh, drama.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: Fight

* * *

On Thursday morning after first period, Bender stood at his locker, trying to remember the combination to his new lock. _18...32...16... _He pulled on the dial, but the lock didn't bulge. He took a deep breath. _18...32...14... _Again, the lock refused to pop open. He growled and kicked the door as hard as he could. A few students walking past stopped to stare, receiving an obscene gesture for their troubles. He let out a stream of cuss words and started walking down the hall.

English, AKA, Big Fucking Waste of Time. All they ever did was sit around and talk about dead guys who wrote about dinner parties and clouds and undying love. What a bunch of pussies. Dickens and Shakespeare and…what's his name? Moliere. Bender was struck by an image of Claire sitting in the library, smiling as she corrected his pronunciation. _It's Moliere…_

_Who the fuck cares how his fucking name is pronounced? _Bender pushed past a group of freshman girls giggling by the water fountain. They squealed at the interruption and he glared at them. _Get the fuck out of the way if you don't want to get hit. _He snorted in frustration and started walking faster.

Up ahead, Andy was at his locker, pulling out a textbook. Bender remembered that his knife was still missing, a fact that still troubled him greatly. _Time to get it back._

"You've got something that belongs to me."

Andy glanced up in surprise, then smiled when he saw who was standing next to him. "Hey, man."

"I said, you've got something that belongs to me."

Andy narrowed his eyes in confusion. "And, uh, what might that be?"

"You know what it is."

"Actually, I don't."

Bender let out a very deep breath. "My knife. I want it back."

"What are you talking about?"

"Is English your second language? My knife. Give…it…to…me."

Andy's eyed narrowed further, this time with caution and a hint of anger. "I think you've made a mistake, okay, Bender?"

Bender slammed his hand against the locker next to Andy's. "Don't mess with me, Sporto. I'm not in the fuckin' mood."

"Oh, and I am?" Andy's eyes blazed. "I don't have your god-damned knife! If you'll recall, I don't need weapons to defend myself."

A wave of embarrassment surged through Bender's body, but he shook it off with a fresh swell of anger. "Oh, is that right? Well, you know what, Sporto? I hate to break it to you, since you seem pretty damn sure of yourself and all, but I let you off easy on Saturday. I could break you in half given the chance."

Andy scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"You don't believe me?"

"No."

Bender stood still for a moment, feeling trapped. "You're nothing but a fucking pussy. I could rip you apart."

"You talk tough, Bender, but talk's cheap."

"So's your mom."

Before he knew what had happened, Bender was on the ground, face to the floor and arms locked behind his back, with Andrew Clark on top of him.

* * *

"You're nothing but a fucking pussy. I could rip you apart."

Andy scoffed. They both remembered their fight in the library and they both remembered who'd won. Without his knife, Bender wasn't much of a threat. "You talk tough, Bender, but talk's cheap."

"So's your mom."

Without hesitating, Andy threw himself at Bender, pulling his arms behind his back and pushing him to the ground with his own strength. Bender struggled for a moment, then sagged under Andy's weight. Andy paused for a few seconds to make sure the fight was won. "You done?"

"You wish."

"Yeah? Doesn't look so good for you right now."

"You think I want to get into this with you right here? Name the time and place and I'll be there."

"Yeah, you and half your neighborhood." Andy released Bender's arms and hauled himself up to his feet. He looked at the small crowd that had gathered around them, then looked back at Bender, who was standing again. "You done now?"

"Like I said, name the time and place."

Andy laughed. "What, like a rumble?"

"You afraid?"

"No. I'm just not gonna do it."

"Chicken shit."

Andy shook his head and turned to pick up his backpack. "Scumbag."

Suddenly, Andy was sprawled out on the floor, his bag crushed beneath him. He grunted and twisted under Bender's weight, but Bender was larger and heavier. Andy felt his breath in his ear. "Now who's it lookin' good for?"

"Screw you."

"That's not very nice."

"Get the fuck off of me."

"Say please."

Andy took a deep breath and pushed backwards, surprising Bender with a defensive wrestling move. He grabbed the larger boy's arm and threw him against the row of lockers, eliciting a collective gasp from the ever growing crowd. Andy pinned his body against a metal door and leaned in close. "Please."

Bender squirmed, but didn't say anything. Behind him, Andy heard someone yell, "Vernon's coming!"

Andy released Bender and pushed him out into the hall. "Get out of here, asshole."

Bender wiped the sweat from his eyes. "My pleasure, Sporto."

"What the hell's going on over here?" Vernon's voice blared from the other end of the hall. With one last glare at Bender, Andy grabbed his bag from the floor and started down the hall in the opposite direction. A few seconds later, his friend John appeared at his side.

"What the hell just happened, man?" John had to practically run to keep up with his friend.

"Nothin'." Andy clenched his jaw and kept up the pace.

"Really? Not what it looked like to me."

Andy stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned towards his friend. "It was nothing', alright? Just some asshole lookin' for a fight."

"Just some asshole?"

"Yeah."

"And you didn't even know him? He just came up to you and started swingin'?"

Andy paused. "Yeah, somethin' like that."

John whistled. "Hell of a show, man. It's a good thing Vernon didn't catch you. Coach would have your ass for breakfast if you missed this match."

Andy sighed and started walking again. "Yeah, I know."

"You think this guy's gonna bother you again?"

Andy continued walking, eyes focused on the path in front of him. "I don't know." He walked faster as John fell behind again. "I don't know."


	16. Lunch Buddies

A/N: I had fun writing this chapter, especially the second half. Allison's part is one of my favorite sections in the story thus far. Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: Lunch Buddies

* * *

Claire yawned widely as Mr. Waverly finished writing another equation on the blackboard. It didn't make any sense to her at all, but then again, neither had any of the others. She straightened up and tried to find a pen in the cosmetics counter she called her purse, finally locating one at the very bottom. She looked at the blank piece of paper in front of her and sighed. _If I can at least write them down, maybe Brian can explain them to me later… _

A few minutes later, the bell rang, dismissing them for lunch. Claire recapped her pen and nodded with satisfaction at the equations she had written down in her notebook. Not much, but it was a start.

In the hallway, Claire debated going out to the t-shacks to find Bender again. Part of her wanted to resolve their issues and start over, but the bigger part was still unsure about whether or not the previous day's events were totally her fault. Sure, she had been judgmental…and maybe a little stuck-up. But she didn't think that she deserved everything that he'd said about her.

Claire raised her chin defiantly. _No, I won't go. Let him suffer for an extra day._ She nodded in resignation and walked the short distance to her locker. As she popped open the door, she suddenly froze. _Wait…is that what it means to be a tease? To drag him around and make him pay for his mistakes? To play hard to get?_

"Hi, Claire."

Claire whirled around, half expecting and, much as she hated to admit it, hoping that she would find John Bender leaning against the locker next to hers. She tried not to look disappointed to see Brian standing in front of her holding an armload of books. "Hey, Brian. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Just got out of shop, so I'm kinda…" He used his finger to make a circular motion next to his head, the universal signal for crazy.

"Still that bad?"

"Oh, it's…" He shrugged. "How was physics today?"

"Uh…" Claire gave him a sheepish look and pulled out her notebook. "Well, I wasn't really paying much attention yesterday, so it still didn't make much sense. I did take notes, though." She pointed to the list of equations she had copied down. "Do these look right?"

He squinted at the page. "Yeah….that's to find the terminal velocity and that one's for acceleration. The one below it is-"

Claire closed the notebook quickly. "Maybe we could go over these some other time. Like, maybe this afternoon."

He cringed. "I can't. I've got, I mean, the Math Club meets on Thursdays. Um, what about tomorrow?"

"Friday?"

"Yeah."

"You want to study on a Friday?"

Brian looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "Is something…I mean, is that wrong?"

"Well, no, but Fridays are supposed to be fun. You're not supposed to study."

Brian blushed, giving himself away. "Oh, of course not. I mean, I was just, you know…" He scoffed. "That was a joke."

"Okay, well, Saturday's out, too. I've got detention in the morning and-"

"You've got detention?" Brian bit his lip to keep from laughing. "What for?"

She sighed. "Long story."

"Oh, man…" He started laughing, despite his efforts not to. "That's…I guess you'll be able to keep Bender company."

She rolled her eyes as if this simply annoyed rather than terrified her. "Don't remind me. So, what about Sunday?"

Brian was still laughing. "Sunday?"

"Yes, to study."

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Yeah, that's okay. Do you want to meet somewhere or…I mean, you could come over to my house if you want."

"Yeah, that sounds good."

He smiled nervously, as if this was the first time he'd ever invited a girl over, which it probably was. "Okay…well, I guess you can call me, you know, to let me know when you want to come over. Whenever is fine. I don't have anything to do on Sunday. Except go to church with my parents, but that's just in the morning, of course. The rest of the day is wide open. I mean, not wide open. I do have stuff I have to do. You know, things to go, places to do. I mean, places to go and-"

"Sounds great." Claire took out her lunch and closed her locker door. "I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay. I'll see you Sunday then." He shot her another nervous smile and turned towards the cafeteria. She looked past him to see Amy, Clarissa and Natasha walking towards her.

"Claire! I feel like I haven't seen you during lunch in forever." Amy flipped her long brown hair over one shoulder and adjusted her purse strap. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, uh, sorry about that."

"You haven't eaten lunch with us all week. Have you dumped us for some jock?" Amy laughed and nudged Clarissa in the ribs.

"Uh, no. No jock." _If you only knew…_

"So, where have you been?" Clarissa's big, blue eyes gazed up at her expectantly.

"She's been studying." Claire shot a glance over at Natasha, who was smirking. Claire narrowed her eyes at her, but the others didn't notice.

"Oh. Why?" That was Amy, who clearly didn't understand why someone would want to waste valuable social time on something as boring as studying.

"Don't be mean, Amy!" Clarissa glared at her friend, then turned back to Claire. "Are you worried about your grades? What class were you studying for?"

Claire paused uncertainly, giving Natasha a chance to butt in. "Geometry." Claire glared at her again, but Natasha just smiled.

"Actually, it's physics."

"Oh, do you have Waverly?" Clarissa made a gagging motion. "That man's such a drag. It's a wonder I could even, like, stay awake during his lectures, much less pass the class."

"Oh, shut up, Clarissa." Amy rolled her eyes. "You get an A in everything."

"Not _everything_." Clarissa rolled her eyes. "Is Waverly, like, helping you out and stuff?"

"No, actually, there's this guy, Brian. He's tutoring me."

"Brian? Brian McAllister? He's so hot."

Claire laughed at Amy's suggestion. "Uh, no. His name's Brian Johnson. He's in the Physics Club."

"Is that who you were talking to just now? I think he's in my study hall." Amy wrinkled her nose. "He's really dorky."

Claire opened her mouth so say something, _anything_, but the words didn't come. She wanted to tell them that he was a nice person, that he was really smart, that he was kind of her friend…maybe sort of. But before she could push the words out of her mouth, Amy spoke again. "So, can we go already? All I had for breakfast this morning was a diet Coke and if I don't eat something really soon, I'm, like, seriously going to faint."

Clarissa nodded in agreement and the three girls started walking towards the cafeteria. Claire stood still for a moment, trying to process the scene in her mind. _Did I just do something wrong?_

"Claire."

Claire glanced up. Natasha was standing a few feet away, watching her closely. "You okay?"

Claire shook her head to clear her thoughts and started walking to catch up with her and the others. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine."

* * *

Brian took a deep breath and released it slowly. _I can't believe I just invited a girl over to my house._ He knew that it wasn't a date or anything, but still. A girl! At his house! He couldn't help but grin widely as he opened his locker to retrieve his lunch.

"What's so funny?"

Brian jumped, nearly hitting his head on the locker door. "Oh, hey, Allison. You scared me." Allison smiled, but didn't say anything. He cleared his throat. "So, uh, are you going to lunch?"

She nodded. He fiddled with the strap from his backpack nervously. "Uh, do you want to eat at my table?" Her eyes grew wide and her mouth opened a little bit. "I sit with my friends, Larry and David. Larry's…well, you know Larry. He's the guy that Andy…" He blushed, but hurried on. "But, I mean, you shouldn't say anything about that, you know, if you sit with us." He paused. "You don't have to, you know…if you don't want to."

Allison glanced down at her shoes and straightened her white headband. He stood still for a moment, unsure if he should repeat the question. Finally, she looked up and opened her mouth. She kept it open for a minute, as if trying to decide what to say. "Okay."

He grinned. "Great. Let's go." He led her through the halls to the cafeteria, where hundreds of students had packed the room. Brian started walking towards his table, where his friends were already sitting. He turned back to say something to Allison, but stopped when he saw the look on her face. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, but he could tell that something was wrong. For one, she looked absolutely terrified. Her eyes kept darting around, shooting nervous glances at the groups of students filling nearby tables, and she looked as though she wanted to shrink down inside of herself. "Uh, Allison..." She looked up at him. "My table's over here."

Allison followed him over to the corner of the cafeteria where David and Larry were sitting. Brian put his bag down on the bench and cleared his throat. "Uh, guys, this is Allison. She's going to eat with us today."

Larry and David were staring at Allison, which was understandable since they rarely ever had visitors. Brian hit Larry on the shoulder, bringing him out of his stupor. "Oh, sorry. I'm Larry."

Allison nodded shyly and David jumped in. "I'm David." She nodded again.

"Well, uh, sit down. Make yourself comfortable." Brian cleared his backpack out of the way and pointed to the empty space. Allison sat down and folded her hands in her lap as Brian climbed in next to her. He looked up at his friends, who were both watching her stare at the table. Larry turned and arched his eyebrows at Brian, who shot him a look of warning. He tried to think of something to say to break the ice, but couldn't come up with anything.

Luckily David was more prepared. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and leaned forward. "So, have you ever heard of Robert Stewart?"

* * *

Allison's eyes widened. She glanced over at Brian, who just shrugged. David was still watching her hopefully, expecting an answer. "No."

He nodded, clearly disappointed. "It's okay. Brian here thought he was a singer."

"That's Rod Stewart."

He grinned. "I know! That's what I said!"

Next to her, Brian laughed. She felt the corners of her mouth curve into a smile as the ball of fear lodged in her stomach started to loosen. She looked around the table, where the three boys had spread their lunches out in front of them. Brian was negotiating with Larry about a possible trade involving tomato soup and a bag of chocolate chip cookies.

Allison reached into her bag for her own lunch and started placing the food on the table. Today, she had packed a bag of cereal, a butter and sugar sandwich, grapes and a Coke. When he saw the cereal sitting on the table, Larry's eyes lit up. "I love that cereal!"

She held the bag out towards him. "You can have some…if you want." Larry reached forward and took a few pieces from the bag.

"Uh, excuse me!" Brian glared at Larry and motioned towards his thermos. "We were making a deal here, or did you forget?"

Larry wrinkled his nose. "I don't like tomato soup, Brian."

Brian sighed, clearly exasperated. "Well, what am I going to eat then?"

Larry popped a piece of cereal into his mouth. "I don't know. Ask David. He's a sucker."

David looked at Larry, unfazed by the comment. "That may be true, but I can still beat you at Dungeons and Dragons."

Larry scoffed. "Uh, that's because you cheated."  
"I didn't _cheat_." David turned to Allison. "I didn't cheat."

Allison smiled and looked at Larry, who was shaking his head in disgust. They started arguing about video games and Allison opened her sandwich. Brian immediately knew what she was doing and elbowed her in the ribs. "Are you crazy?"

She looked at him, deadpan. "Obviously."

He shook his head. "No, I mean, your sandwich."

"What about it?" She started pouring the cereal onto both sides of the bread. Larry, who was still arguing with David about the differences between Atari and Intellivision, noticed this and stopped mid-sentence to watch her. David stopped talking and followed Larry's line of vision. All three of them watched her crush the cereal into the bread, then press the two sides together.

"Are you really going to eat that?"

Allison glanced at Larry. "Sure."

Larry blanched and Brian looked at her wearily. "I can't believe you do that."

Allison picked up the incredibly thick sandwich and took a bite. As she chewed, David picked up his own sandwich. "My sister does that."

"She does?"

He nodded. "Yeah, except sometimes she adds weird things like potato chips and ketchup." He shrugged. "My mom thinks it's just phase and that she'll grow out of it."

Larry looked even paler than usual. "Can we not talk about this, please? You know I get nauseous easily."

David stuck out his tongue, giving Larry a glimpse of his chewed up sandwich. Larry gagged and pushed him away. Brian and Allison laughed as David collected himself and made a big deal about swallowing the mouthful. Larry wiped his mouth and glared at his friend. "You're a jerk."

David nodded. "I think that's probably an accurate assessment."

Larry shook his head and went back to his own lunch, muttering something under his breath. As Allison took another bite of her cereal and sugar sandwich, Brian leaned over towards her. "So?"

"So, what?"

"So, what do you think of my friends?"

Allison looked across the table, where David was taunting Larry with a carrot stick while Larry tried to unsuccessfully to ignore him. She smiled. "They're nice."


	17. What Are Friends For?

A/N: Okay, just a note on how I'm writing this story. If you'll notice, every pair of chapters (1 and 2, 17 and 18, etc.) includes one section for each of the characters. So, just because I haven't mentioned a character in a while doesn't mean that I've forgotten him or her. It does, however, make sure that I don't forget about characters like Brian, who is unfortunately not romantically involved with anyone and tends to get pushed aside.

But don't worry, there will be lots of love stuff coming up. It just may take a while before all you die-hard romantics out there are truly satisfied with the level of mush, but it's coming! Just be patient, okay? I've nearly got the whole story mapped out by now, so I can promise with absolute certainty that there will be lots and lots of awww moments, alright? You're just gonna have to trust me on this one.

I'm not even sure if anyone's even going to read this chapter since you're probably all at home reading Harry Potter right now. Ha, ha. Anyway, please review if you read this, even if it's just a line or even if you think it's rubbish.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: What Are Friends For?

* * *

Allison was sitting on the steps in front of the school waiting for her father to come pick her up. She didn't have a car or a driver's license (after all, what good is one without the other?), so she relied on her parents for transportation. Not that she ever went anywhere exciting. Except maybe detention.

After a few minutes, her father's car pulled up along the curb. As she started walking toward the car, a slow breeze drifted by, sending chills up her spine. One of the downsides to shedding her layers for a more feminine look, as she'd discovered.

Allison opened the car door and plopped down in the passenger seat. Her father, a quiet man with wire-rimmed glasses and grey hair around his temples, waited for her to shut the door before pulling out onto the street.

"How was school?"

"Fine."

For the next few minutes, they rode in silence. Allison stared out of the passenger side window at the trees lining the sidewalks. She tried to count them all as they passed by, but lost count once she reached the 100 mark. After that, she started counting shops. 15...18... Eventually, she grew bored and settled back into her seat, staring at the road in front of her.

"Do you have an appointment with Dr. Guerin next week?"

Allison sucked in a deep breath. "Yes."

"What day?"

"Tuesday."

Mr. Reynolds nodded. "Tuesday. That's the…" He paused, his face clouding over. Allison watched him swallow and grip the steering wheel a little bit harder. "That's the 3rd, isn't it?"

Allison looked away and didn't answer him. He didn't seem to notice. Neither of them spoke again until they reached the house.

* * *

Claire wrinkled her nose and dropped the fry she was holding into the pile in front of her. "Maybe we should go somewhere else next time. All of this grease is making me nauseous."

Natasha dipped a chicken nugget into a puddle of honey. "Maybe you're pregnant."

Claire glared at her. "Hey!"

Natasha shrugged. "It was only a suggestion."

"Not a very good one."

Natasha took a sip of Coke. "I heard a little story about your boyfriend today."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"I heard he got into a fight with Andy Clark."

"What?" Claire leaned forward. "With Andy? Are you kidding?"

"No, they got into it in the hall this morning."

"Did they get caught?"

"I don't think so. I heard about it from Corey Johnson, who's in my English class. He said they broke it up before Vernon got there." Natasha arched her eyebrows at Claire. "Looks like your boy's got himself a temper."

"That's an understatement." Claire shook her head. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Don't know."

"Who started the fight?"

"Don't know that either."

Claire shot her an exasperated glance. "So, what do you know?"

"I just told you."

"There must be something you're not telling me! What else did Corey say?"

"He didn't say anything else, I swear."

"Well, do you think he's hurt? I mean, did either of them get hurt?"

"I'm sure he's fine. I really don't think it was that bad of a fight." Claire looked at her skeptically. "No, really. The way Corey was talking, it sounded like it was more of a my-penis-is-bigger-than-your-penis kind of thing. Probably pretty harmless."

Claire dropped back in the booth and released a deep breath. "Well, that's a relief."

Natasha plopped another nugget into her mouth and watched her silently while she chewed. When she swallowed, she took a sip of Coke and settled back into the booth.

"You really like him, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this whole _thing_ between you two…it's more than just physical, isn't?"

"What does that mean?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid, Claire. You know what I mean."

"No, actually, I don't. If you're such an expert about my life, then go ahead. Tell me what this _thing_ is." She crossed her arms over her chest and arched her eyebrows expectantly.

Natasha chose her words carefully. "It's more than physical with you two. You're emotionally involved."

"Emotionally involved?"

"Yes."

"You mean, like, in love?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then what did you say?"

"I said, you're emotionally involved. Most girls don't get so worked up over a guy when it's only physical and most girls don't choose a guy like John Bender if all they want are a few stolen kisses in the janitor's closet."

Claire narrowed her eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Which part?"

"What does 'a guy like John Bender' mean?"

"It means you'll lose big time if this ever gets out."

"Lose what?"

"Your reputation, your chances at winning prom queen…" She waved a French fry around in the air for emphasis. "…maybe even your friends."

"Like you?"

Natasha scoffed. "Don't be so dramatic. If I was ever going to stop being your friend, I would have done it when you bought that red miniskirt I told you I wanted and then pretended that you didn't know what I was talking about when I asked about it."

"That was more than two years ago!"

"Still hurts."

"Whatever. So what about the others? What do you think they would say if they found out?"

"Our friends?"

"Of course."

"I think the people that really care about you won't mind."

"And who are the people that really care about me?"

Natasha considered this for a moment. "I think Clarissa would be okay with it, you know, if you give her a while to let it sink in."

"Sink in?"

"Yeah, more than anything, I think it would just confuse her. Clarissa may be smart, but she's also an airhead."

Claire stifled a giggle. "That's not very nice."

"It's true."

"Okay, so what about Amy?"

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "I don't know about Amy."

"Why, you think she doesn't care about me?"

"No, I just…I don't know." She shrugged. "I guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we?"

Claire sighed and looked down at her lap. "Maybe not."

"Why? What happened?"

"We had a fight."

"That was quick."

Claire scoffed and started playing with her fries. "Yeah, well, it was bound to happen sooner or later."

"Why's that?"

"He's just so… aggravating."

"And you aren't?"

Claire glared at her. "I'm just saying, he's very hard to get along with. It seems like we've done more fighting than…" Claire blushed. "…than talking, you know…like civilized people."

"Passion does that to people."

"Can you stop making it sound like we're off, you know…" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "…_doing it_."

"Oh, you mean having sex?" Natasha asked loudly.

"Keep your voice down!"

"You're so paranoid." She motioned towards Claire's uneaten fries. "Are you going to finish those?"

* * *

As soon as the final bell rang, Bender jumped out of his seat and pushed open the shop door leading outside to the back of the school. He looked around for Jimmy, but didn't see him anywhere. Bender wasn't concerned; Jimmy tended to wander off sometimes, like a three-year-old in a supermarket, but always seemed to make it back alright.

Bender took the south stairwell to get to his locker. He still hadn't figured out the combination, but thought he might give it another shot. He spun the blue dial around a few times, trying to remember. _18...32...16... _No. _18...32...18... _Again, no. _18...36...12... _After a few minutes of this, Bender grew frustrated and gave up. Maybe tomorrow he'd persuade Carl to cut this one off and get him another.

Bender walked outside towards the athletic fields. He patted his front jacket pocket for a package of cigarettes to smoke on the way home, but remembered that he had smoked them all on Tuesday. _Shit. _He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. _I really need a job._

Just as he came up on the bleachers, he heard someone shout behind him. He turned around to see a group of boys wearing letter jackets walking towards him from the parking lot. "Hey!"

Bender considered ignoring them, but didn't want to appear afraid. So, he stood there next to the bleachers with a bored expression on his face as they approached. "What the fuck do you want?"

A taller boy with brown hair, apparently their "leader", found this amusing. "I hear you got into a little scuffle today."

Bender narrowed his eyes. "Oh, yeah? And who'd you hear that from? One of your boyfriends?"

The boy smiled, as if he found this funny, too. "No, actually, I heard about it from a friend. You might know him. Andrew Clark."

_Little fucker. _"Nope, sorry, doesn't ring a bell."

"Funny, but…" The tall boy stepped forward. "I don't believe you."

Bender considered his options, but came up dry. The other two boys stayed where they were, watching their friend, who had gotten so close to Bender that he could smell his cologne. "You know, you might wanna lay off the perfume next time you come visit. It does nasty things to my sinuses."

The boy answered with a punch to the gut. Bender doubled over, the wind knocked out of him, but tried to straighten up before he got a knee to the face. He looked up just in time to see the boy reach out to take hold of his collar. Bender ducked away and lunged at him from the side, tackling him. He pinned the boy to the ground, just as he had done to Andy earlier, crushing him with his weight. He looked at the boy's letter jacket, which had a few patches on it, including one for wrestling. The name on the back read, 'John Hamilton'.

"Well, _John_, it looks like you and I have more in common than we thought." Bender laughed, but the boy below him didn't. Suddenly, Bender was lifted off of him by the back of his denim jacket and hauled to his feet. The other two boys held his arms behind his back as John took his time getting to his feet. When he was standing again, he glared at Bender, who was smirking at him.

"You think this is funny? 'Cause I'm about to beat the shit out of you."

"Uh, I hate to be rude, since you've shown me _nothing_ but kindness in the short time that we've known each other, but I don't think it really counts as a fair fight if your friends hold my arms behind my back."

John stepped forward, brow wrinkled in confusion. "Who said anything about a fair fight?" And then he punched him in the stomach.


	18. Father Figures

A/N: Please, please, please, please review.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: Father Figures

* * *

Brian looked at his watch again and sighed. Somehow he wasn't in the mood to talk about constructing difference quotients or recognizing tangent lines. He glanced over at Larry, whose brow was wrinkled in concentration as he jotted down notes from a diagram Mr. McIntyre had drawn on the chalkboard. On Larry's other side, David was leaning back in his seat, tapping his pencil on his notebook. Brian turned back to the chalkboard and tried to pay attention.

A few minutes later, the Math Club meeting ended and Brian jumped out of his seat. The boys waved goodbye to Mr. McIntyre and walked out to the front of the building, where David's dad was already waiting by the curb. Brian didn't have many reasons to be jealous of David's family situation. His parents went through a nasty divorce when David was in the sixth grade and he ended up living with his father. The part that _did_ make Brian jealous was all the cool stuff David's dad owned. They lived in a really nice house with a pool in the backyard and a red 1983 Pontiac Firebird parked in the garage. Oh, how Brian coveted that car. With every fiber in his being he wanted a car like that. A car that he could drive to school with the top down and the wind blowing through his hair. A car that would make all the guys jealous and the girls fall in love. A car like that and he'd be in heaven.

"Hey there, boys!" David's dad waved from the driver's seat. _Leather _driver's seat, that is. Brian waved and tried not to stare at the sparkling paint job.

"See you guys tomorrow?" Brian and Larry nodded and David settled into the passenger's seat. He gave them a wave before the car took off down the street.

"I'd sell my kidneys for a car like that."

Brian turned to Larry, surprised. "You can't survive without kidneys, Larry."

"Just one ride; that's all I want. It'd be worth it."

"No, it wouldn't." Brian paused. "But maybe for one kidney…and a spleen. You can survive without a spleen."

Larry shook his head. "Whatever. Someday, I'll be so rich I can buy a car like that _and_ an extra spleen."

Brian's father's station wagon pulled up to the curb. "Do you need a ride home?"

Larry shook his head. "No. My dad will be here in a few minutes."

Brian nodded and jumped into the car. His father, a friendly man with thick brown hair and glasses, waved at Larry and pulled away from the curb. "How was school?"

"It was fine. I mean, good, you know?" He smiled. "How was school for you?"

Mr. Johnson grinned. It had been their joke for years, ever since Brian started kindergarten. Brian's father was a biology teacher at the local middle school, a job that Brian admired until he ended up in his class in eighth grade. In a school with only one advanced biology teacher, they didn't have much of a choice. "Oh, it was fine. Good, in fact, because I have good news." He glanced over at his son. "Ready?"

"Yeah, of course."

Mr. Johnson pushed his glasses up his nose with his index finger and replaced his hand on the steering wheel. Ten and two, just like they teach in driver's ed. "Joe, one of the teachers in my department, has a lake house he's not using. He said we could stay there for a weekend if we want. It'll be empty for the entire month of May."

Brian's eyes lit up. "Are you serious? A lakehouse!"

His father nodded. "Yeah, and the fishing's supposed to be great. Joe said he caught a two-footer down there a couple summers ago. Said they practically jump into the boat." He paused. "I mean, not literally, of course. They don't _jump _into the boat, but…well, you know."

"Wow, it's been so, you know, so long since we've done anything like that. Not since I was in Boy Scouts…"

"I know, it'll be just like old times."

Brian shook his head in disbelief as they pulled the car the car into the driveway and started piling out. His father stopped him just before they reached the front door. "Now, listen, you can't say anything to your mother yet, alright? I haven't mentioned it to her yet, so…" Brian made a zipping motion across his lips, eliciting a smile from his father. "Good. I'll mention it to her right away, okay?"

When they got into the kitchen, Brian put his backpack on the dining room table and sat down. His mother, who was preparing dinner, glared at him. "I suggest you take that bag off the table and do something useful, like set the table."

Brian nodded sheepishly and did as he was told. He put his backpack on the floor and walked further into the kitchen. His little sister, Leah, was standing on a pink wooden stepstool that allowed her to reach the counter. When he came up next to her to retrieve the plates, she grinned at him. "Mommy let me help make dinner."

Brian rolled his eyes and pulled four plates from the cabinet above her head. "Tell me which parts you made and I'll be sure not to eat them."

Leah grinned. "Then you'll be real hungry 'cause I helped with everything."

Their father walked back into the kitchen from the living room and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. She hardly noticed the gesture as she seemed particularly concerned with a pot of carrots sitting on the stove. "Um, honey, I have…I have good news."

"What is it?"

Mr. Johnson looked at Brian hopefully and Brian nodded. "Uh, you know Joe, up at the school? He's the chemistry professor, you know. He's bald except for some black hair on the sides and he's pretty short, but not too short. He's always wearing those-"

"I know who Joe is, Charles. What about him?" Mrs. Johnson waited impatiently for him to get to the point.

"Oh, well, um, he's got this lake house and he's not using it and he said that we could go up there some weekend. You know, relax, do some fishing."

"It's available anytime? Like, this summer?"

"Well, no." Mr. Johnson scratched his head. "Just in May, but Joe said that we can-"

"Just in May?" Mrs. Johnson threw her hands up in the air. "We can't just pick up and go camping in May."

"Well, technically, it's not really camping because there's a house and-"

"But it's in May, Charles!"

Brian, who had been glancing back and forth between both parents, looked at his mother. "Is…I mean, is May a bad month?"

"Yes, it's a bad month!" She looked exasperated, as though she were attempting to explain the theory of relativity to a seven-year-old. "You have school until the beginning of June, remember? Your finals start in May."

"But that's not 'til the end of the month, Mom."

"So, you plan on starting the day before, is that it?" She glared at her husband. "See what you've started? You get everyone all excited but you forget about what's really important." She sighed and turned back to the oven, shaking her head.

Brian looked at his father, who seemed disappointed and somewhat confused. He ran a hand through his hair and looked up at his son. Brian shrugged as though the rejection of their plan didn't bother him. Mr. Johnson walked over to him and started putting out the forks. "Maybe later in the summer, you know, just before school starts. Maybe there'll be another chance for us to go then, when the timing is right."

Brian nodded and gave his dad what he hoped was an encouraging smile. He looked back at his mother, who was cleaning up a mess Leah had made on the kitchen counter. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that the timing would never be right.

* * *

Andy flung himself onto the sofa in his living room and grabbed the remote control, which was wedged between the cushions. It was after 9:00, so most of the good shows were over. He landed on a channel playing cartoons and left it there.

A few minutes later, Mr. Clark walked into the room and noticed his son sprawled out on the couch. He took a seat in the big, worn-out recliner next to the sofa and settled in. For a few minutes, neither of them said a word. The only sound came from the television, where the coyote _almost _had the roadrunner, but just barely managed to let him slip away.

"How are your classes going?"

Andy's eyes remained glued to the screen. "Fine."

"You been keeping' up with your homework?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's a tough load, I know. School and wrestling."

"Yes, sir."

A few more minutes passed. The coyote took quite a beating, but nothing so bad that he couldn't return after the commercial break to try his luck again. Andy didn't move a muscle, but he could hear his father squirming on the recliner, taking swigs from the Coke in his hand.

Just as the last segment ended, he spoke again. "How was practice?"

Andy had expected the question and was even surprised it had taken him so long to ask. "It was good."

"You been practicing your quarter nelson?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. It nearly cost you that last match, remember?" He paused. "But you…you still did good. I was real proud."

Andy glanced over at him. His father 's eyes were still glued to the television. Andy looked away and didn't say anything.

"How's your knee?"

"Fine."

"It hurting you at all?"

"Sometimes."

"You soaking it like I told you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And wrapping it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, you take care of it, you hear?"

Andy nodded. "Yes, sir." He glanced over at his father again, but Mr. Clark was still looking straight ahead at the television.

"That's a big match this weekend, Sport. You don't want that knee givin' out on you when you're in that circle."

Andy stared at the television, too angry to even care what he was looking at. Anything but his father. Anything. He didn't say a word, just picked himself up off of the couch and walked out of the room. When he got to his bedroom, he shut the door and sat down on his bed.

His room looked like it belonged to a boy who played sports. He had the baseball pennants and the football autographed by Walter Payton, the running back for the Chicago Bears. There were also dirty athletic socks and sweatpants piled in the corner and team photos displayed haphazardly on his desk. And, of course, there were the trophies. Lots of trophies. Big, little, gold, silver, tall, wide. Some of them had molds of athletes perched on top, others plaques with his name or his team's name etched into the metal. Some were from high school wrestling championships, but others were from his childhood, when he played football and baseball and even did some swimming.

Andy stared at the trophies until they all ran together, a pool of golds and greys. He turned away from the trophy wall and reached over to his nightstand. He opened the top drawer and removed a yellow piece of paper which had been folded into a small rectangle. Carefully, he unfolded the paper until he could see the words very clearly. **_Physics Club Meeting, Monday after school…_**

Andy flipped the page over and let his eyes settle on a picture of a mountain covered in snow. He didn't move for a long time, just sat and stared at the peaks and ridges, clumps of snow and jutting rocks. Finally, he reached out and ran his thumb over the lines, tracing the edges. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over a dark spot, a cave near the top of the peak, trying to memorize every detail.

After a few minutes, Andy sighed and folded the paper back up. He replaced the yellow rectangle in the drawer and closed it, then turned off the lamp. He crawled under the covers and got comfortable, but didn't close his eyes. He stared at the ceiling for a long time and let his mind wander, never settling on any one subject. Finally, his eyelids grew too heavy to stay open and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

A/N: Just a reminder in case you forgot: REVIEW! The button is right below these words, on the left side of the screen. : ) 


	19. Nerves

A/N: Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: Nerves

* * *

Allison crouched low over her desk, not so much to protect her work from prying eyes, but to focus better. She was drawing a picture of her own shoe, which was difficult since she happened to be wearing it at the time. Every once in a while, she would lean back in her seat and stick her foot out into the aisle just a little bit. No one really paid much attention to her anyway, mainly because she sat on the back row everyday.

As she added a bit of shading to the laces, she stuck her tongue out a little without even realizing it. She wasn't aware of most of the things she did when she was drawing. The picture in front of her was always more important than the real world, if that's what you wanted to call it. Allison preferred to think of the picture as the real world and her surroundings…just a not-so-pleasant dream.

When the bell rang, she gathered up her papers and shoved them into her Prince folder before packing them into her bag. Out in the hall, she snaked through clumps of people as she made her way to the cafeteria, where Brian and his friends ate lunch. _And me. I eat there, too._

Allison couldn't keep the grin off of her face. Friends. She had friends. Not just people that said hi when they passed her in the hall (though she had never had any of those either, come to think of it), but people that knew her name. People that she ate lunch with _everyday_. None of them had furry tails or tried to take her sunflower seeds without permission, though Larry did seem to like her cereal. She would have to watch out for that.

"You look happy." Allison stopped walking and looked up. Andy was standing in front of her, smiling. Her own smile grew just a little bigger at the sight of him. God, he was so attractive. His face was pink with exertion and his hair wet from the shower and she thought she'd never seen anything so beautiful in her life. For a split second, she wanted to whip out her pens and paper and draw his picture, right in the middle of the hall with everyone watching at them. She wouldn't even care if they stared.

"I'm sorry we didn't see each other yesterday." Allison didn't say anything. "I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out again tonight. You know, a real…" He paused. "A real date."

Allison's heart started hammering even harder at the word 'date'. She nodded mutely and pushed her headband up a little bit.

"Well, I guess I should, um, get your address so I can come pick you up." Andy looked at the gym bag slung over his shoulder, then patted the pockets of his jeans. "I don't have a pen or anything…"

Allison dug around in her bag and pulled out the pen she had been using earlier. She also pulled out her folder and removed a piece of paper to write her address. For a minute, she had to think hard to remember where she lived. It wasn't as though she had dozens and dozens of people clamoring for a way to get in touch with her. She handed the paper to him when she finished.

"What time should I pick you up?"

She paused. "I don't know."

"Um, what about seven? Is that okay?" She nodded again. "Okay. Well, I'll see you at seven then." He gave her a small smile and turned back towards the cafeteria. Allison stood in the middle of the hall for a moment, trying to remember where she was going before Andy blew through, shattering her dream world in a not-so-unpleasant way.

* * *

"If you stick that sandwich in my face one more time, I'm going to punch you in the head."

"I thought you liked peanut butter and jelly."

"Yeah, in my mouth. Not up my nose."

Allison laughed as David shrugged and took a bite of the sandwich in question. Larry shook his head and resumed eating his own turkey and Swiss. Brian forced a mouthful of tomato soup into his mouth and nearly gagged. He held his nose and tried again, hoping that if he couldn't smell it, it wouldn't taste as bad. It didn't work.

"What are you doing?"

Brian wiped his mouth on his napkin. "Trying to eat my soup without throwing up."

Allison peered at the orange liquid curiously. "Why do you hold your nose?"

"So I won't taste it."

"Does that work?"

Brian shrugged. "Not really."

Allison considered this for a moment, then reached for her bag of Cheetos. "You can add some of these."

"Ewww, no."

"Just try it."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because if you like it, then it's probably disgusting."

Allison groaned with impatience and grabbed a handful of the cheesy sticks, tossing them in before he could stop her.

"Hey!" He motioned at the bowl of soup, which was practically fluorescent orange after the latest addition. "Do you mind?"

"No, I've got plenty."

Brian gaped at her and David laughed heartily. "Go ahead, try it."

Brian sighed and picked up his spoon. He stared at the spoonful of soup with a huge Cheeto floating on top, then stuck it into his mouth.

"Well?"

Brian took his time chewing, then swallowed, wiping his mouth again. "It's okay."

"Is it better with or without the Cheetos?"

"Does it matter at this point?" Allison smiled and shrugged. Brian rolled his eyes and continued eating. It was actually pretty good with the Cheetos. Better than he'd expected. But it wasn't like he was going to tell her that after making fun of her sandwiches all week.

A few minutes later, the bell rang dismissing them to fourth period. Allison made a quick exit with Larry not far behind. Brian and David threw away their trash and walked out into the hall.

"So, Allison is nice."

"Yeah, she is."

"How'd you two meet?"

"Detention."

David frowned. "Isn't that where you met Andy Clark?"

"Yeah."

"Must have been an interesting day."

"It was."

David pushed his glasses up for the millionth time and took a deep breath. "So, is she, like…I mean, is she dating anyone?"

Brian looked over at his friend, eyes wide. "Why? Do you like her or something?"

David shrugged, but his flaming cheeks gave him away. "No, I was just wondering."

"No, you weren't."

"Yes, I was."

"Were not."

"Was, too."

"Not."

"Too."

"Not.

"Okay, fine!" David sighed deeply and adjusted his backpack strap. "I like her, okay? She's nice and pretty and she laughs at our jokes. I was just thinking…" He trailed off, looking decidedly regretful for bringing it up. He glanced back at Brian to gauge his reaction. "Anyway, does she?"

"Does she what?"

David rolled his eyes. "Have a boyfriend?"

"Oh." Brian thought for a moment. "I'm not sure, but I think she may sort of be dating, or you know, thinking about maybe dating…Andy Clark."

David's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"

"Well, I don't know for sure, but, you know, in detention, they seemed kinda into each other. Like they liked each other, you know? But I don't know if anything happened, you know, after that."

David was shaking his head, trying to digest Brian's revelation. "What else happened in detention?"

Brian laughed nervously and avoided answering. "So, you really think she's pretty?"

David scoffed. "Yeah, she looks just like that girl from WarGames. You know, with the curly hair?"

"Oh, man, she was gorgeous."

"I know. I have a poster of her in my closet."

Brian laughed. "Uh, my class is this way. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, sure." David turned to leave, then stopped. "Hey, you're not gonna… you're not gonna tell Allison about any of this, are you?"

"David, my lips are sealed."

David nodded gratefully and waved goodbye. Brian shook his head in disbelief as he watched his friend walk away. _Could this week get any weirder? _Somehow, he had a feeling that it could.

* * *

Claire walked along the sidewalk beside the t-shacks, praying that Vernon wouldn't decide to patrol the back of the building during lunch that day. Not that it would matter too much, since she was already guaranteed a spot on the front row tomorrow morning. But three detentions in a row? No, thank you.

Claire walked slowly, trying to build up her nerves. She knew she needed to apologize to John for her attitude on Wednesday. She hadn't meant to sound stuck-up or judgmental, but old habits die hard. Very hard. At the very least, she wanted to see him again, even if he didn't forgive her. Yesterday's discussion with Natasha had stirred up a few things. Was this more than a fling? Somehow, she wasn't so sure anymore. Did she want it to be more? She didn't know that either. If she could just see him again, talk to him, look into his eyes, take in his smell, watch his mouth curl into a smirk…maybe then she'd know. Or maybe she'd just end up even more confused.

When she finally had a good view of the last t-shack where Bender had been sitting on Wednesday, Claire let out a disappointed sigh. The only person leaning against the building on that particular day was the blonde boy he'd been sitting with two days ago. What was his name? Jimmy. She swallowed and stepped forward.

"Hello."

Jimmy looked up at her, squinting. "Hi."

"Um…" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "…is John here today?"

Jimmy looked at the spot beside him, just to be sure. "No…"

She nodded. "Well, is he…I mean, will he be here?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't seen him since yesterday."

Somehow, this news frightened her a little bit. "Is he okay?"

Jimmy looked confused. "I don't know." Claire shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying not to freak out. _He's not hurt. It wasn't a big deal. Just a little scuffle and Andy wouldn't hurt him too bad… _Jimmy was watching her closely, trying to figure out why she was standing there. Suddenly, his face lit up and he smiled. "You're the earring girl!"

Claire blushed and her hand automatically flew to her ear, covering up the diamond stud. She smiled sheepishly, but didn't confirm his exclamation. Instead, she just stood there, wondering how to make a graceful exit before she could embarrass herself any further. But when she looked at Jimmy, who was still smiling at her from his seat in the grass, she felt something tugging at her.

"Do you…" She paused and took a deep breath. "Do you sit out here during lunch everyday?"

He looked up at the sky, as if expecting God himself to bend down and whisper the right answer in his ear. "Usually."

"Oh." She bit her lip and forced herself to stay put and not move. "With John?"

"Uh huh."

She nodded, more uncomfortable than she could ever remember being in her entire life. No, not uncomfortable, she realized. Nervous. "Um, would you mind…" She swallowed. "Can I sit with you?"

Jimmy grinned. "Cool."

Claire released a breath. There, that wasn't so hard. "Um, thanks." She sank down onto the sidewalk leading up to the building's door. "Where is your lunch?"

"I don't have one."

"Oh." She eyed the white bag sitting on the sidewalk beside her, then looked back at him. "Do you want some of mine?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Your lunch?"

"Yeah." She pulled the bag closer to her and pulled out a plastic container of light brown sauce.

Jimmy squinted at the contents. "What's that?"

"Cashew butter with sunflower seed oil and…" She trailed off when Jimmy's eyes grew wide. "It's like peanut butter."

"Oh."

She pulled out a plastic bag full of Melba toast. "I also have some…crackers." She rummaged even further into her bag and pulled out another plastic container, this one containing fresh strawberries. "Or strawberries."

Jimmy accepted a strawberry from the plastic container and tossed it into his mouth, stem and all. She giggled. "No, you're not supposed to-"

"These are really good!" Jimmy grinned, showing off his juice-stained teeth. He looked like Dracula, only much less intimidating.

Claire held out the plastic container. "Here, you can have them."

"Really?" Claire nodded and Jimmy accepted the container as if it were a priceless vase that would shatter if he dropped it. Claire opened the bag of Melba toast and started spreading the cashew butter onto the tiny squares. They sat in silence, Claire with her "crackers" and Jimmy with the strawberries (and their stems), until the bell rang.


	20. What Did You Do?

A/N: Totally angsty chapter, so prepare yourselves, LOL. Yes, this is the one where you find out what happened to Bender. You can thank me by reviewing.

* * *

Chapter Twenty: What Did You Do?

* * *

Andy jogged down the hallway towards his fifth period class, careful not to bump into anyone along the way. He'd meant to finish his geometry homework during lunch, but, as usual, that didn't happen. So, yet again, he was forced to finish what he could in the time he had left before the bell rang.

Andy rushed into the room and threw his gym bag on the floor by his chair. He immediately grabbed his textbook and half completed homework paper from the bag and looked around for a writing utensil. _Why does this always happen to me? _He let out a frustrated sigh and turned to the girl next to him to borrow a pencil.

Finally, Andy was prepared to finish the assignment. He worked quickly, aware that he was probably making lots of mistakes. He didn't care. Sometimes Mrs. Sheridan didn't even check their work, but gave them grades based on completion. He could only hope that today was one of those days.

"So, is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

Startled, Andy jumped and turned to see Claire sitting in the seat next to him with her eyebrows arched expectantly. "Not now. I have to finish this."

"Yes, now!" Claire grabbed Andy's pencil from his hand and held it behind her back like a three-year-old hiding stolen cookies. "Tell me what happened yesterday."

Andy's jaw clenched in anger. "That's not funny, Claire. Hand it over."

"Not until you tell me."

"What do you want to know!"

"What happened with you and John yesterday?"

"Bender?"

"Yes, Bender. What happened?"

Andy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "We got into a fight. Now give me my pencil."

"Who started it?"

"I don't have time for this!"

"_Who _started it?"

"He did!"

"Why?"

"Why does he start anything? He's an asshole, alright?"

"Did anyone get hurt?"

"No!" Andy grabbed the pencil from her hand and tried to get back to the assignment.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Have you seen him since then?"

"Look, I know you're used to getting what you want, but this is my grade we're talking about here."

"I just want to know why you didn't tell me about it yesterday."

"Why do I have to tell you everything that happens to me?"

"Because it didn't just happen to you. It happened to John, too."

"So go ask him."

"I don't know where he is."

"Tell someone that cares."

Claire glared at him. "One more question and I'll leave you alone."

Andy sighed, slamming the pencil down on his desk. Several nearby students turned to see who the star wrestler was getting into a fight with this time, but were somewhat disappointed to see it was just a girl. "What!"

"Have you seen him since yesterday?"

"No."

"What do you think happened to him?"

"You said one question."

"Andy, please."

"Look, I don't care!" Andy's eyes were practically glowing with anger and frustration. "Personally, I hope he's lying dead in a sewer somewhere!" Without waiting for a response, he turned back to his homework assignment.

Before Claire could respond, their teacher interrupted her. "Alright, class has started. I want you to pass your homework assignments to the front of the room."

Andy let out a stream of obscenities and threw his pencil onto the floor. Mrs. Sheridan whipped around to look at him. "Mr. Clark, is there something you'd like to say to the rest of the class?"

Andy clenched his jaw, not looking at Claire. "No, ma'am. I'm sorry."

"Good. Now everyone pass those papers up to the front." Andy collected papers from the students behind him and handed them in to his teacher. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Claire watching him, but couldn't read her expression. He removed a fresh piece of paper from his bag and retrieved the pencil from the floor. When Mrs. Sheridan started the lesson, he stared at the blackboard in front of him and diligently took notes. He refused to look at Claire for the rest of the period.

* * *

Bender stared at his ceiling, trying to stay as still as possible. It hurt less when he didn't move. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.

He'd been lying in bed all morning, staring at the ceiling, staring at the walls, staring at the nightstand, the stereo, the sheets, the blinds covering his window. After five hours of staring at same things he'd been staring at for eighteen years, he was growing sick of it. Against his better judgment, he rolled over and sat up in bed.

_Fuck! _The pain washed over him, ripping through his chest and stomach like a bullet. He rubbed a hand over his bare chest, knowing it wouldn't help sooth anything. His ribs weren't broken; he'd broken his ribs before and he knew what it felt like. Thank God he wouldn't have to endure that again. It was more likely that the muscles were just bruised.

Carefully, Bender stood up and walked to the bathroom down the hall. It was the "guest bath", though the Bender family never had any guests since his parents weren't very clever hosts. Bender shuffled over to the mirror and looked at his reflection. His torso was deep blue and purple where John had punched him. His face was also colorful, but not nearly as bad. He used the pads of his fingers to trace a bruise around one of his eyes. He remembered the punch that gave him that shiner. Straight shot, not that the shooter could miss with his henchmen keeping the target straight.

Bender reached down and turned on the faucet, then rinsed his face with cold water. It hurt a little bit, but he felt much better when it was done. He grabbed a white ribbed tank top from the floor and put in on, hoping it would cover up most of the bruises.

His mother was in the kitchen when he walked in. She looked up, her eyes wide with surprise. Then she shook her head and went back to the soup she was making. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised by now."

Bender ignored her and walked over to the pantry, where he grabbed a container of peanut butter. He couldn't find a clean knife in the silverware drawer, so he used a spoon instead. When he reached past his mother for the bread, she moved in front of him, blocking the loaf. "What was it this time, a drug deal gone bad?"

Bender let out a small, derisive laugh. "You know me so well, Ma."

"That's right, I do." She put a hand on her hip. "I know you go out every night through that damn window. I know you hang out with those losers from down at the garage. Don't tell me you don't do drugs because I know you do."

"I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"I have had it up to here with your disrespect, Johnny! You hear me?" He scooted past her and grabbed the bread, but she leaned forward, inches away. "You come in here with your big shot attitude, but what have you done that's so great anyhow? Failed some classes? Smoked crack 'til it came pouring out of your ears?" She shook her head. "You come in here and help yourself to whatever the hell you want from my pantry without payin' for a goddamned thing, but you can sure as hell pay for drugs!"

Bender continued to ignore her as he spread peanut butter onto a slice of stale bread. She grabbed the rest of the loaf roughly and let it dangle at her side. "I paid for this, you know? You didn't help. Your goddamned father sure didn't help. The only one who puts food on the table around here is me!"

Bender rolled his eyes and threw his peanut butter covered spoon into the sink, where it clanked roughly against the stainless steel. "What do you want, Ma? A medal? Yeah, I can see it. 'Mother of the Fuckin' Year'."

"Don't you talk to me like that, John Bender. Don't you even dare!" She grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look her in the eye. He clenched his eyes shut as a wave of pain gripped him, but she didn't care. "Look at me, dammit." He opened his eyes. "Now, you go out and find a job. You don't want to go to school, fine. But you're not gonna sit around here on your ass all day."

She released him and he stepped back, rubbing his chin. She stared at him, waiting for an answer, but he didn't give her one. Instead, he grabbed his sandwich and walked out of the kitchen towards his bedroom. When he got there, he shut his door and strode over to his tape player. He needed something loud. Not just loud, but really loud. He threw in Black Sabbath's _Never Say Die _and pushed play.

As the first notes filled the room, Bender went to his closet, where he found the guitar Roger had given him for his birthday two years before. He hadn't played in a while and the calluses on his fingertips were all but gone. He sat on the bed and fingered a few chords, trying to remember the arrangement for the song playing. Eventually, the chords came to him and he started playing along, causing the noise level to go up another notch. He pressed down hard on the guitar strings, causing the wires to dig roughly into his skin. When his body told him to ease up, he pushed past another barrier, ignoring the pain and pressing down even harder than before.

He knew that his mother could come in and make him turn the music down, but he didn't care. He listened to the entire album, strumming along to every song. He played until his hand ached and his fingertips were numb. He played until he couldn't remember who was playing or where he was. He played until the last notes faded and an eerie silence filled the house.

He looked down at his hands. Blood covered the guitar strings, the neck of the guitar and his finger tips. He stared at the red liquid running down his fingers and into his palm and didn't move. He didn't wipe it away or clean off his guitar. He just sat there in the silence and watched the blood drip onto the carpet until the sun went down and the room grew dark.

* * *

A/N: For all the non-musicians (actually, I'm not a musician either, but I tried the guitar once upon a time): John's fingertips started bleeding because the calluses on his fingertips had disappeared since he hadn't played the guitar in so long. It's really hard on your fingers and they can get chapped or even bleed if you play for too long in one sitting, especially if you press down really hard and ignore the pain, as John did. 


	21. Dungeons and Dragons

A/N: Thanks to Allison, who helped me with these next two chapters. You have to read her story 'Special Delivery'. It's amazing!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-one: Dungeons and Dragons

* * *

Brian sat on the edge of Larry's bed, waiting for his turn at the Atari. David and Larry were sitting on the floor in front of him, eyes glued to the television screen. Larry was sticking out his tongue in concentration and David was sitting so close to the screen that Brian feared he may suffer permanent damage to his eyes if he didn't distance himself.

"Uh, David. You might want to, you know, scoot back a little. Your eyes are g-"

"Brian, shut up."

"Yeah, okay."

A few minutes later, Larry slammed down his joystick and turned to glare at David. "You do that every time. It's not a legal move!"

David waved him off. "Of course it's legal. If it wasn't, I couldn't do it, could I?"

"You're such a cheater."

"And _you _are a sore loser." David turned backwards to look at Brian. "You ready to go up against…" He smirked at Larry. "…the _master _of Dungeons and Dragons?"

Larry snorted. "You wish."

"I don't have to, as we just learned."

Larry looked as though he wanted to punch him. Brian jumped off of the bed and stood between the two boys. "Uh, hey, fellas. Let's, uh, let's just cool down for a minute, okay?"

Larry continued glaring, but didn't say anything else. David held out a hand to make peace, but as soon as Larry reached out to take it, he pulled it away. "Psyche!"

"You jerk!"

"Hey, hey! Come on, guys. Let's…let's just do something else, okay? All we ever do on Friday night is play video games or study. We need to do something better."

"Return of the Jedi!"

"You've already seen it eight times, David."

"So? It's a masterpiece of modern filmmaking."

Larry scoffed. "Yeah, right. George Lucas is losing his touch. The first one was way better."

"But that was six years ago. Technology has advanced dramatically since then. Jedi had way better visuals."

Brian sighed. "We are not seeing Return of the Jedi again."

"Why not?"

"We saw it last week!"

"So?"

"So, shut up, loser."

"I wasn't talking to you, Larry. I was talking to Brian."

"Well, I'm talking to you. Shut up and stop cheating at video games."

"For the last time, I didn't cheat! That is a legal move and-"

"Hey!" Larry and David stopped squabbling and turned to Brian, who was standing in between them, holding his hands out in front of him like a referee. "Everyone needs to shut up, okay?"

Larry sighed. "Fine. What are we going to do then?"

Brian sat back down on the bed. "I don't know, but it needs to be something cool."

"Cool? Did you just say cool?"

"Yeah."

David looked confused. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

Larry rolled his eyes. "He's saying he doesn't want to go watch Return of the Jedi again, moron."

"All I'm saying is, we should do something different. You know, something that, like, regular people do."

"Hey, I'm a regular person."

Larry rolled his eyes again. "Yeah, right."

Brian shook his head. "You know what I mean. I was just thinking that maybe we could, like, go to a party or something." Larry and David stared at him blankly, apparently waiting for the punch line. Brian shifted uncomfortably. "Or, you know, we could just stay here and keep playing video games."

David grabbed his controller from the floor and sighed. "We never get to do what I want to do."

"Crybaby."

"Loser… at Dungeons and Dragons."

"I am never playing this game with you again, David. Ever."

"What else are we going to play?" He motioned at the tower of game cartridges stacked on top of the television. "_Rocky and Bullwinkle_? _The Kool-Aid Man_?"

"Those aren't mine! I've told you that a thousand times before!"

"And I suspect you'll keep telling me that for the rest of your life. But you and I both know that you sit up late at night, when you think that no one else can hear you, hoping to finally stop the evil Boris and Natasha once and for all."

"Can I kill him? Please?" Larry looked at Brian pleadingly.

Brian sighed and grabbed Larry's controller from the floor. "I guess it's my turn anyway."

David turned the console back on. "By the way, Larry," he said, pushing up his glasses. "You may regret that last statement when you find out my news."

Larry was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking bored. "What?"

"I got Tower of Mystery today."

"What!" Larry was on his feet immediately, argument forgotten. "The new Dungeons and Dragons? Have you played it yet? Is it awesome? Oh, my God, why didn't you bring it?"

"I forgot. But you two can come over tomorrow if you want."

Larry groaned. "I can't! My stupid cousins are coming in from out of town."

David nodded sympathetically. "Brian?"

Brian shrugged. "Yeah, okay."

"Excellent! My Dad'll pick you up in the morning." He scooted forward until he was only inches from the screen, then turned and saluted at Brian. "Good luck, my friend. You're going to need it." Without waiting for Brian's response, he picked up his joystick and pushed START.

* * *

Bender didn't bother knocking on Jerry's door before entering. The noises coming from inside told him that the party had already started and was in full force. He pushed the door open and stepped into the tiny house.

Jerry's mother had died a few years before, leaving him and his brother to fend for themselves. Thankfully, she had already paid off the mortgage to the house. This meant that even when they were forced to live on pork and beans for weeks on end until his older brother, Will, finally found a job, they at least had a roof over their heads, even if it did leak. Will had long since left Shermer for greener pastures, though he sent his little brother letters every couple of weeks with checks tucked inside. Will, the more ambitious of the two, had gone to trade school and eventually found a good job with an electrical repair company fixing broken refrigerators and faulty wiring. Jerry, on the other hand, was a little less motivated. He relied heavily on his brother's generosity and only worked at the garage to pay for his, shall we say, decadent lifestyle.

"Bender, man, where the fuck have you been?"

Bender shrugged and walked deeper into the house, where his host and several of their friends were lounging on couches and other makeshift seating. Jerry was sitting on a couch in the middle of the group, beer in one hand and a joint in the other. "Have a seat, friend." He kicked the foot of one of the boys sitting across from him. "Come on, show John some respect, will ya?" The boy laughed and scooted closer to the girl next to him, who didn't seem to mind at all. Bender plopped down and put his arm up over the back of the sofa.

"How you doin', Jerry?"

"How'm I doing?" He glanced around at the room at the party going on around them. "How'm I doing? I'm doin' pretty fuckin' good, and yourself?"

"I'm holdin' on."

"Yeah? That's a nice shiner you've got there."

Bender ran his fingertips over the bruise below his eye. "Thanks. It was a birthday gift from a friend."

"I didn't know it was your birthday."

"It's not."

"Oh." Jerry paused, then shook his head. "So, where the fuck have you been this week? Haven't seen your ugly mug since last…" He looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember. "I don't know, but it's been a long fuckin' time."

"Not that long. I saw you a few days ago."

"When? I don't remember that."

Bender pretended to look stunned. "No kidding!"

Jerry grinned, waggling his eyebrows. He took a drag on the joint in his right hand. "Where've you been?"

"They call it school."

"What the fuck you goin' to school for?"

"To get a _fucking_ education," Bender said, placing special emphasis on Jerry's favorite word. "At least that's what they tell me."

"What the fuck you need an education for?" He waved his arms around, spilling a few drops of beer on the cushions. "I never graduated, but I did okay. Look at this place. It's a fuckin' mansion."

Bender glanced over at Roger, who was sitting a few feet away drinking a beer. Upon hearing Jerry's comment, he arched his eyebrows in warning, but didn't say anything. Bender turned back to Jerry, but he was getting up from the sofa, trying not to trip over anyone's feet on the way to the kitchen.

"I need another beer. Does anyone else need a beer? Because I need a beer."

A few people shouted their orders at Jerry, but Bender knew it was in vain. Jerry would probably find an ex-girlfriend in the kitchen, hook up with her in the back room, and return thirty minutes later wondering where his own beer went.

The couple sitting next to Bender scooted past, leaving him with the couch to himself. Roger took their place on the sofa and leaned back, sinking into the cushions. He took a long look at Bender's face, but didn't say anything.

"Just don't ask, okay?"

"I wasn't going to."

Bender nodded and took Roger's beer from him. Without asking, he took a long swig, then gave it back. "You got any cigarettes? I've been out all week."

Roger removed a pack from the front pocket of his shirt and tossed it into his lap. "Light?" Roger dug into his jeans pocket and threw a lighter at him. Bender caught it and lit one of the cigarettes, taking a deep drag. He sighed with contentment and tossed the lighter and pack of cigarettes onto the sofa next to Roger. "Thanks."

"Keep 'em. I've got more at home." Roger threw the pack at Bender again.

"Sure?"

"Yeah." He paused. "What happened to your hand?"

Bender looked at his left hand, momentarily forgetting what could possibly be wrong with it. When he saw the scabs left by the guitar strings, he closed his hand into a fist and looked away. "Nothing."

Roger leaned over and pried his hand open. "You been playin' guitar?"

Bender jerked his hand away. "A little."

"Looks like you assaulted the strings. Why'd you do that?"

"I hadn't played in a while, so what?"

"So, most people take it easy when they start up again."

"Well, I'm not most people." Bender grinned. "I'm unique." Roger's eyebrows went up again, letting Bender know that he wasn't convinced. Bender squirmed and took another drag on the cigarette. "You were right, you know."

"About what?"

"About people. You know, the other day in the park. You said no one's different. Remember that?" Roger nodded, watching him. "Well, you were right. Just wanted you to know that."

Roger nodded again and looked out at the party going on around them. Then he turned back to Bender and smoothed a hand over his dark brown beard. "I never wanted to be right."

"Well, you were."

Roger nodded again, but kept silent this time. They smoked cigarettes for a few minutes, watching the people walk by, smoking, drinking, laughing, dancing. Bender wanted to join them, but suddenly he felt very tired.

Jerry walked back into the room and saw Bender and Roger lounging on the couch. "Hey, Bender, guess what."

"What?"

"I got you a birthday present, man."

Bender rolled his eyes. "I told you, it's not my birthday."

Jerry walked around the couch and stood beside him. "Trust me, you're still gonna want it." He lifted his eyebrows and pressed a finger against one side of his nose, then snorted. "You know what I'm sayin'?"

Bender clenched his jaw and looked over at Roger, whose mouth was set in a firm line that suggested how he felt about Jerry's taste in birthday presents. Roger narrowed his eyes at Bender, watching him closely. Bender shook his head, then lifted himself off of the couch.

"Right on! Come with me." Jerry placed a hand on Bender's back to lead him out of the room.

"John!"

Bender turned back towards Roger, who was glaring at him. "What?"

"You know what you're doin'?"

"I always know what I'm doing."

"You're a _fucking _liar."

Bender's eyes widened. Roger shook his head, disappointment radiating off of his body. Bender felt very small all of a sudden, like a child caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. Part of him wanted to sit back down on the couch, or better yet, go home and sleep. Another part of him was ready to show Roger that he didn't care what he thought. Why the hell did he always have to feel like he was disappointing someone anyway?

Bender turned back to Jerry, placed his hand on his friend's shoulder and started leading him away from the couch. "Did you get me a cake, too?"

* * *

Allison stood in front of her bathroom mirror staring at her reflection. The fact that this was becoming such a habit was unnerving. She didn't want to care so much about her appearance; she wanted to be the starving artist with the black clothes and the ink stained fingers who sometimes didn't shower for a couple of days because she simply forgot. She wanted to be that girl, _had_ been that girl, but something had changed. Something.

When the doorbell rang, Allison threw her tube of Chapstick into the sink and raced downstairs to see her father's reaction to their guest. She was disappointed to find the downstairs empty and her parents nowhere to be seen. A few seconds later, the doorbell rang again. Allison sighed, adjusted her headband and pulled the door open.

Andy was standing on her front porch, looking as good as ever. He was wearing a dark blue button up shirt over a pair of khaki pants with a clean pair of sneakers poking out from the bottom. He smiled when he saw her. "Hi."

Allison opened her mouth, but her vocal cords weren't working. It suddenly occurred to her that she was on a date. A Real Date, as Andy had called it. She'd never been on a date before. She hadn't even had any friends come over, much less a boy that was most likely going to be paying for her next meal. And why did he have to wear that shirt anyway? Didn't he realized that it made his eyes look impossibly blue?

Andy shifted his weight from one foot to another. "So, are you, uh, are you ready?"

Allison paused. _Of course I'm not ready. _Without saying anything, she closed the door behind her and walked past him towards the light blue Bronco on the curb, hoping that if she just didn't think about what she was doing then she wouldn't be nervous. She pulled on the door handle, but it didn't budge.

"Uh, I'll need to unlock it for you." Andy opened the door and she climbed into the passenger seat. He glanced over at her as he opened the driver's side door, probably wondering why she hadn't said a word since he'd arrived. On the way to the restaurant, neither of them spoke. Allison tried to count trees, but it was too dark outside to see much of anything. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, the silence was decidedly uncomfortable.

The interior of the restaurant was bright and loud, much like the school cafeteria. The hostess seated them in a booth and left their menus on the table in front of them. Allison glanced over at Andy, who was staring at her. She looked away quickly and dug into her bag for a pen. When she found it, she grabbed a paper napkin from a small pile in the middle of the table and started drawing.

She could tell that Andy was watching her, but didn't look up at him. She worked quietly for a few minutes and let her nervous energy flow into the pen, through the ink and onto the napkin, where it became a picture of a fork and spoon. By the time she'd finished the handles, her heart rate had almost returned to normal.

"Hi, my name is Maggie and I'll be serving you today. Can I go ahead and get you some drinks?"

Allison looked up at the waitress, a pretty woman with a small skirt and a big smile. Maggie watched her expectantly, pen poised to take her order. Allison, who had forgotten that she would have to make decisions like this, opened her mouth, but didn't say anything. The older woman paused, then pointed at the menu in front of her. "We have soda, coffee, juice, tea-"

"Vodka."

"Excuse me?"

"Vodka."

On the other side of the table, Andy let out a sharp chuckle. The waitress looked surprised, but tried to hide it. "Um, okay. I'll need to…I'll need to see your I.D."

Allison rummaged around in her bag and pulled out a plastic card from the bottom. She gave it to the waitress, who looked confused.

"Uh, I'm sorry, but this is a school I.D. I'll need to see a driver's license."

"Oh. I don't have one."

The waitress paused. "Well, I'll need to see one for you to order an alcoholic beverage, so I'm afraid I can't-"

"What about a fake I.D.?"

"Excuse me?"

"A fake I.D." She turned to Andy. "Show her yours. I think I left mine at home."

Andy could hardly keep from laughing. "Uh, I'll just have a Coke and, uh…she'll have the same."

* * *

A/N: Please review! 


	22. Conversations

A/N: Thanks for the great reviews! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-two: Conversations**

* * *

"And then, he was, like, 'I'm sorry, Josie. I was such a bonehead. Will you forgive me?' And she was like, 'Of course I will, Brad. I love you.' And then they started kissing and it was so cute."

As if on cue, all seven girls sighed at once. Well, six. Natasha snorted. "Brad's such a jerk. If you ask me, she was better off single."

Clarissa's jaw dropped. "How can you say that? They're so cute together!"

"Yeah, I thought it was really cute when I saw him groping Lisa last Saturday while Josie was throwing up beers in the bathroom."

Amy rolled her eyes. "He said he was sorry about that."

Theresa, who with her long black hair and tan skin looked as though she'd just washed up on the beaches of Hawaii, took another handful of popcorn from the bowl in the center of the rug. "Tasha, have you worn that new skirt yet?"

"Which one?"

"The one you bought last weekend. With the rhinestones along the sides."

Natasha wrinkled her nose. "Not yet. I don't have anything to wear with it."

Theresa laughed. "I find that hard to believe."

Natasha smiled. "Yeah, well, believe it. I haven't been to the mall in ages. Last weekend was the first time I'd gone since my dad told me he was going to take away my credit card if I didn't stop spending so much money at J.C. Penney."

"What a drag. What'd you say?"

"I said I wouldn't be caught dead in J.C. Penney."

Theresa laughed. "Parents."

"Yeah, really." Amy sighed. "My mom was in my face yesterday about my grades. I mean, what the hell do I care if some guy a thousand years ago wrote some stupid book about peace or democracy or whatever."

"That wasn't a thousand years ago, Amy."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Like I said, Clarissa. I don't care." Clarissa shrugged and popped a pretzel into her mouth.

Kim, a cheerleader, opened another can of soda. "Have you seen that new guy? That just joined the baseball team? He's so cute."

Amy nodded. "I know! He's in my Spanish class. I wonder if he's single."

Claire laughed. "You say that about every guy, Amy."

Amy glared at her. "Not _every_ guy."

"Just about."

"That's so not true."

Claire laughed and leaned back on the couch, careful not to spill any of her diet soda on the white cushions. Amy's house was like a lot like her own in that it looked and felt like a museum. Everything in the living room was white except for the rug, which was more of an ecru.

"What do you want with him anyway?" Natasha grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl. "He's got sideburns, for crying out loud."

"He doesn't have sideburns!" Amy paused. "Well, maybe. But they're not that long."

Kim arched her eyebrows at Natasha. "You have to admit, he is really good looking."

"I don't have to admit anything."

"Ugh, you have such bad taste!"

"No, she doesn't. Have you seen her lover boy?" Jamie Coogan, a pretty redhead with not too many freckles, grinned slyly at Natasha. "He's a stud."

"I heard he got beat up at Stubby's party last weekend. Is he okay?"

Claire glanced over at Natasha, whose confident demeanor crumbled just a little bit. She actually looked a little scared. "Yeah… he's fine."

"God, Stubby is such a jerk. I can't believe you dated him!"

"Kim!" Claire glared at the brunette, hoping she would get a clue and shut up, but Kim just crumpled her brow in confusion.

"What? He is."

Claire sighed and looked back at Natasha, who was staring at her drink silently. Suddenly, she looked up and rose to her feet. "I need a refill. Anyone want anything?"

Clarissa nodded. "Can you bring me some more pretzels?"

Natasha nodded and Claire watched as she turned towards the kitchen. "Tasha." She turned and their eyes met. Claire opened her mouth to ask her if she was okay, but the words didn't come.

"You want some more diet Coke?" Natasha's eyes were unreadable.

Claire nodded. "Uh, yeah. That would be great."

Natasha nodded and disappeared down the hall. Claire turned back to the circle of girls, who had already moved on to more exciting topics of discussion.

"Yeah, she wears her hair in braids everyday." Theresa rolled her eyes. "I mean, do we live on the prairie or something?"

"She's the one with the overalls, right?" Kim laughed. "I've seen her."

"Some people just don't have a clue," said Theresa.

"Yeah, really. Like this girl in my drama class, she always wears these really dorky button-up shirts." Amy shook her head. "The worst part is, she buttons them up all the way, so she looks like she's practically choking."

Claire swallowed nervously. _Say something. Don't just sit there. _Before she could open her mouth, Clarissa spoke. "Are you talking about Samantha Harris?"

Amy's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I don't know. Why?"

"Because she's my lab partner for Chem II."

Amy laughed. "Wow, what a surprise. A science dork."

Clarissa's face fell. "Gee, thanks."

"I didn't mean you, dumb ass. I meant _Samantha_." Amy giggled and a couple of the others followed suit. Claire watched Clarissa curiously, waiting for her response.

"She's actually really nice." Clarissa's voice was soft and weak, but Claire felt her spirits rise just a bit. _Way to go, Clarissa._

Kim scoffed. "Yeah, but have you seen her hair? I mean, hello! Has she ever heard of styling gel?"

Clarissa took a sip of her soda and didn't say anything else. Claire watched her, waiting for her to stand up and tell them to stop being so mean, but she didn't. She just sipped her soda and glanced around the room, looking anxious for the conversation to be over.

"Hey, Claire, isn't that girl in our history class?"

Claire glanced up at Amy nervously. "Which one?"

"The one Theresa was talking about?" Amy laughed. "Little House girl."

Inwardly, Claire breathed a sigh of relief, glad that she wasn't talking about Allison. "Yeah, I think she is."

Amy rolled her eyes. "God, she looked like a four-year-old with those braids." She watched Claire for a moment, waiting for a response.

Claire paused uncertainly. She wanted to stick up for the girl, she really did. Part of her wanted to tell Amy to get a life and stop making fun of people, but Claire knew how much trouble that would be and she didn't want things to get that messy. Besides, it wasn't like the girl was her friend or anything. She'd never spoken to her in her life. "Yeah… yeah, she did."

Kim leaned backwards, letting her head fall against the bookcase behind her. "Guys, what am I going to do about Jason? It's been two days since he's called."

Jamie and Theresa immediately jumped in, handing out advice like the experts they were. Claire swallowed and tried to stop feeling guilty. _It's not like she's your friend or anything. She's just some girl that doesn't even know you're talking about her._

A few minutes later, Natasha returned with Claire's diet Coke and Clarissa's pretzels. She plopped down on the couch next to Claire. "What'd I miss?"

Claire shrugged. "Just gossip."

"You don't say."

Claire looked over at her. "What took you so long?" She glanced over at the others, but they were too absorbed in Kim's romantic drama to pay them any attention.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"Bitch."

Claire grinned, then let it fade slowly before speaking. "Did you call Michael?" Natasha nodded. "How is he?"

"Fine. He got his stitches out today. Everything's healing well."

Claire nodded and took a sip from the diet Coke Natasha had brought her. "You want some?"

Natasha scoffed. "Oh, please." She bent over and pulled a can of regular Coke and a bag of cookies from the floor next to her feet.

Claire laughed, her guilt momentarily forgotten.

* * *

"So, you never answered my question."

"What question?"

Andy took a large bite of his pizza and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "About what you were like as a kid."

"You never asked me about that."

"Yes, I did. At McDonald's, remember?"

Allison shrugged and twirled a long piece of spaghetti onto her fork. She almost managed to stuff the entire bite into her mouth, but didn't quite make it. She pursed her lips and sucked in the rest with an audible slurp.

"So?"

"So, what?"

Andy rolled his eyes. "So, are you going to answer the question?"

"No."

"No? You aren't going to answer it?"

"Did I stutter?"

Andy shrugged. "Fine, don't tell me. I mean, what do I care?" He looked away from her and busied himself with his pizza.

"I was a brat."

Andy grinned. "I knew you'd answer." Allison narrowed her eyes, a silent question. "Because I said I didn't care." He lifted the pizza to his mouth. "Go on, I'm listening. You were a brat."

Allison continued to glare at him, but he could see the edges of her mouth threatening to curl into a smile. "I was goofy and loud… and stubborn."

"So, what changed?"

Andy watched as Allison's almost-smile disappeared abruptly. "Who said anything's changed?"

Andy swallowed a large bite of pizza, his eyes never leaving her face. "Hasn't it?"

Allison shrugged, then put down her fork. She reached for a paper napkin and started folding it. Intrigued, Andy wiped his mouth with his own napkin and leaned forward to get a better look. "Another art project?"

Allison didn't answer, but kept folding the napkin until it started taking shape. After a few minutes, she set it on the table. "What is that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Dumb jock."

"Hey!"

"It's a swan."

"Thank you. See, that's all you needed to say."

Allison laughed and nodded towards the stack of napkins. "Make something."

"Me?" Andy shook his head. "I can't do anything like that."

"Everyone can do something, remember?"

Andy wiped his hands on his napkins and took a fresh one from the stack. "I can't make an animal or anything."

Allison nodded and leaned forward to watch him. He took the napkin and started folding it smaller and smaller until it took the shape of a small, thick triangle. "There, that's it."

"What is that?"

"A football."

Allison took it out of his hands and rolled it over in her hands. "It doesn't look like a football."

He sighed. "Well, it's obviously not a real football. It's just for fun. You use it to kick field goals from the table."

Allison's eyes lit up. "I want one."

"You can have this one."

"No, I want my own." She grinned and took another napkin from the dwindling stack. "Show me how."

"Uh, okay." Andy smiled. "Just…here, watch me." He took the last napkin from the pile and folded it in half. "See?"

Allison nodded, totally focused on his hands. He took her through all of the steps until they simultaneously completed the project. Allison squeaked and held up her football, eyes glazed with pride.

Andy laughed. "That's good."

"How do you kick a field goal?"

"You just …" He positioned the thick triangle on the table and pretended to flick it. "You use your middle finger and-" Before he could finish, Allison flicked her own football with her middle finger, sending it flying through the air until landed on the floor a few feet away.

"How was that?"

Andy's eyes widened with shock. "I didn't mean do it here!"

"Why not?"

Andy glanced over at the people sitting in the booths across the aisle. Most of them were gaping at Allison, who appeared completely oblivious to their stares. "Because…we're in a restaurant."

"So?" Allison nodded at his football. "Go ahead. See if you can beat me."

"I'm not going to play table football here."

"Chicken."

"I'm not…" He leaned forward and spoke softly. "I'm not a chicken."

Allison arched her eyebrows doubtfully. Andy clenched his jaw and grabbed the football off of the table. "Fine."

Andy snuck a quick look around to be sure that no one was watching them. Then he took a deep breath and flicked the football over Allison's shoulder, where it arched gracefully into air over the aisle…and straight into their waitress's forehead.

Allison burst into giggles, but Andy was mortified. "Oh, my G-" He swallowed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't-"

"Your check, sir." Maggie glared at them as she picked up the football, which had landed on her tray. She placed the football and a tiny slip of paper onto their table, then walked away without another word. Andy buried his face in his hands, but he could hear Allison giggling.

"It's not funny. I just hit her in the face."

Allison bit her lip to keep from laughing, but he could see that she was having a hard time. Despite his embarrassment, he felt the corners of his mouth twitching. After a few seconds, he gave up and they laughed until they had tears running down their cheeks.

"It really wasn't funny, you know." Andy reached over and grabbed the bill. "We could have taken out her eye." He heard Allison stifle another giggle as he reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet. The pocket, however, was empty.

"Here." Allison snatched the check from his hand and pulled a very familiar looking wallet from her knapsack. Her eyes gleamed mischievously as she removed a few dollar bills from the inside. "This one's on me."


	23. Deja Vu

A/N: Here it is, the moment you've all been waiting for: John and Claire back in detention. Hope it was worth the wait. I have a feeling I'll find out if it wasn't. ; )

* * *

Chapter Twenty-three: Déjà Vu

* * *

Allison loved lying in bed while the house was still and no one else was awake. She loved the color of the sky just before the sun rose, the way it turned from black to purple to indigo and finally, blue. It lit her room up the way no lamp ever could and she wished that she could bottle the color in a tube of paint for her own use.

On Saturday morning, she stayed in bed until the shadows melted and the room was glowing dimly, then changed into a pair of sweatpants and trudged downstairs for breakfast. Her father was in the kitchen already, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper. His eyes flickered over her when she walked in. "Good morning."

Allison didn't say anything, but headed for the refrigerator for the milk. She quickly fixed herself a bowl of cereal and took a seat at the dining room table next to her father. They sat in silence for a few minutes, him with his paper and her with her cereal. She stared at the back of the newspaper, where an advertisement for ladies' underwear took up half of the page.

Without looking away from her father's newspaper, Allison reached for the pot of sugar on the center of the table. She added a few spoonfuls to her already sweetened cereal and took a large bite. Her father turned the page.

Again, Allison reached for the sugar. She added a few more spoonfuls and let the lid to the sugar bowl clank loudly as she closed it. Her father didn't stir. She chewed the cereal loudly, not bothering to keep her mouth closed. Nothing.

Frustrated, Allison grabbed the bowl of sugar and dumped the contents into her cereal bowl. Without taking her eyes away from the underwear advertisement, she let the bowl slam back down on the table. Her father's paper rustled softly and he poked his head around the edge to see what all the noise was about. She took a very large bite of her cereal, which was mostly sugar by then, and watched him closely. He smiled indulgently and turned back to the business page.

Allison sighed loudly and jumped up from her seat. She left the bowl sitting on the table, its wet mountain of sugar rising from the center like a volcano submerged in an ocean of milk. Without a word, she ran from the kitchen and back upstairs, where she flung herself onto her bed, scooted so close to the window that she could rest her chin on the sill, and watched the sun rise over the rooftops.

* * *

On Saturday morning, Bender rolled out of bed and stumbled into his bathroom. He peed, brushed his teeth and splashed water onto his colorful face. His bruises were as vibrant as ever, though a few of them were starting fade into a yellowish brown.

As he walked through the neighborhoods on the way to school, he considered skipping detention. Hell, it's not like Vernon would miss him all that much. Why did he give him so many in the first place? More than likely, it was the same reason that Bender himself kept asking for them; neither wanted to look stupid or weak, especially with an audience. Still, they were pretty much screwed for the next two months, thanks to their rather large egos.

By the time he reached the school, he was almost looking forward to his day. If he tried really hard, he might piss off Vernon so much that the old bastard would tell him to just stay home next Saturday.It would be nice to sleep in for once. Waking up at six on a weekend was an extreme punishment, no matter what the reason.

When Bender pushed open the door to the library, the first thing he saw was Vernon standing with his back towards Bender. "…so I would suggest that you all stay put, unless you want to be here next week as well." The door slammed shut and Vernon turned to look at John. "Bender, you're late."

"My Rolex is in the shop." Vernon glared at him and Bender smiled. "But it's good to see you, too, Dick. That suit looks fantastic on you."

"Sit down, Bender."

"No really, sir. Maroon is a good color for you. Really brings out the red in your eyes."

"I said, sit down!" Vernon pointed at the rows of tables behind him. "Now!"

Bender saluted and looked past him at the tables, but stopped abruptly when he saw a very familiar face among the small crowd. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Watch your mouth, Bender!"

Bender ignored him and stared at Claire, who was staring back at him, eyes wide.

"Sit down!" Vernon gave Bender a small shove into the aisle between the tables. Bender was too stunned to care. He took a seat at the table behind Claire's, the same spot he'd been sitting in the previous week, and stared at the back of her head.

Vernon took a deep breath. "As I was saying, there will be no monkey business this week. I will be sitting at this desk…" He placed a hand on a small table at the front of the room. "…the entire time. There will be no talking, sleeping, reading, studying, laughing or having fun." He straightened his jacket and looked out at the crowd. "Are there any questions?" He glared at Bender as his hand shot up. "Besides you."

"Actually, I was just wondering if we had an assignment this week."

Vernon paused, apparently surprised. "No, your only assignment is to stay seated and keep your mouth shut."

Bender nodded slowly, then raised his hand again. "What if we want an assignment?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, sir, I've been thinking a lot about why I'm here and I feel like I'm at a crossroads in my life, you know? Like I have to make a decision." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I was thinking that having a project to focus my attention on would really help me figure a few things out."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, sir. I was thinking it could be something creative, you know? Like art."

Vernon smiled condescendingly. "_You_ want to make an art project?"

Bender nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir. I think it may be my calling. Now, if I could just get my hands on a few cans of spray paint, maybe some lighter fluid, I think I could really-"

"That's very funny, Bender. Do I look stupid to you?"

"Well, sir, I-"

"Don't answer that! This discussion is over." Vernon turned and sat down in the chair behind his makeshift desk. Bender sighed and leaned back in his seat. Directly in front of him, Claire was playing with a pencil. She must have sensed him staring at her because she turned her head slightly so that she could catch a glimpse of him with her peripheral vision.

He smirked. "I don't know if anyone else is feeling it, but I think I'm experiencing a little déjà vu."

Claire huffed and faced forward again. Bender grinned and looked over to her left, where a blonde boy with a letter jacket was sitting in the same seat Andy'd been sitting in seven days ago. "Hmmm, what a coincidence. It looks like some things never change."

"Mouth shut, Bender."

"Yes, _sir_." Bender placed his hands behind his head and tried not to look at Claire. What was she doing there anyway? She probably skipped class to go file her nails or something. He turned his attention to the boy to Claire's left. Another dumb jock getting caught for picking on someone smaller than himself, more than likely. He sneered at the name on the back of the jacket. Jordan Fawcett. _As in Farrah? _Judging from his bleach blonde hair and pretty boy looks, he probably wasn't too far off the mark.

After about an hour of absolutely nothing, Vernon stood up from his chair and looked out over the group of students, who were in various states of consciousness. "I'm going to the teachers' lounge for another cup of coffee. Everything better be the same when I get back."

"I would watch your coffee intake, sir. It can have disastrous effects on your bowels. Upset stomach, diarrhea…"

"Shut up, Bender."

"Unless that's what you're going for. I know that once some people reach a certain age, they can get a little…" He grimaced and brought his voice down to a whisper. "…_constipated_. I'm sure coffee relieves some of those symptoms."

"I said, shut up!" Vernon looked around the room. "Five minutes. Not one peep." With that, he disappeared into the hallway.

"It's about time." Bender reached into his jacket pocket and removed a box of matches and Roger's cigarettes. He leaned forward between Claire and the jock. "You don't mind, do you?" Before either of them could react, Bender struck his match on the edge of their table and lit the cigarette.

"Hey, put that out!" Bender blew a puff of smoke in Jordan's face and the blonde boy waved it away, coughing. "Seriously, dude, that's not healthy."

Bender snorted. "Like, you're so totally right."

"Second hand smoke kills, man."

"I'm counting on it."

"Yeah? Well, some of us actually plan on living past twenty."

"Actually, I'm thirty-two. I've just been held back a few times. I figure thirteenth's the charm."

Jordan rolled his eyes and faced forward again. Bender considered using his cigarette to light the boys golden locks on fire, but decided it was probably a waste of a perfectly good cigarette. He looked over at Claire, who was watching him. When he caught her staring, she twisted away and slumped down in her seat.

Just as Bender was finishing his cigarette, the library doors burst open and Vernon walked back into the library. Bender didn't bother hiding the cigarette, but took another drag.

"Bender! Is that a cigarette? Put that out!"

"Just about finished, sir."

Vernon strode over to his table and jerked the cigarette out of his mouth. "I can't believe this! No, wait, I can."

Bender nodded at the cigarette in Vernon's hand. "Sir, if you wanted a cigarette so badly, all you had to do was ask."

* * *

A/N: I already know that everyone is going to be bugging me about what happened with Bender on Friday night. You'll find out later, okay? I promise. Oh, and TW Basketcase: About Allison? I guess you'll just have to wait and see… ;)

Please review!


	24. Just Your Standard, Regular Saturday

A/N: Sorry about the weird bolding in the last chapter. It was definitely not intentional and I think it was just formatting problems, as you suggested, Lazaefair. It should be fixed now.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-four: Just Your Standard, Regular Saturday

* * *

Andy looked out over the gymnasium, where a couple dozen wrestlers were in various stages of warming up and stretching. The stands were full, as usual. He could see his mom sitting on the first row drinking a bottle of water. She waved at him and he waved back, blushing. His eyes continued scanning the stands, looking and hoping, just to be sure. He tried not to be disappointed when he didn't see her there; it wasn't as if he asked her to come.

His date with Allison had gone well, considering he'd nearly blinded their waitress with a paper football. It was certainly the most interesting date he'd ever been on, though he expected that it would be with someone like her. He still remembered the look on her face when he hit their waitress in the forehead. He liked the way she laughed, when she bit her lip and tried so hard to keep it in. She laughed like a little kid, which somehow made it more genuine.

"Andrew!"

Andy snapped out of his reverie and looked up at his father, who was standing right beside him looking exasperated. "What are you doing? You're up first and you haven't even warmed up yet!"

Andy clenched his jaw. "I warmed up a few minutes ago."

"Did you stretch?"

What was he, an idiot? "Of course I stretched."

"Don't talk back to me. How does your knee feel?"

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes, fine. It feels fine, okay?"

Mr. Clark paused, his eyes boring into Andy's. "Do you understand how big this meet is?"

"Yes."

"Do you understand that if you don't win, you will have no chance of getting to the quarterfinals, much less the finals?"

Andy sighed and pursed his lips together. "Yes."

"Good. Now go sit on the bench. You're up in a few minutes." Without any words of encouragement or final tips, Mr. Clark nodded and walked off to the bleachers, where he took a seat next to his wife. Andy stood still for a moment, staring at the gym floor, not wanting to move.

"Clark! What the hell are you doing? You're up!"

Andy took a deep breath and looked over at his coach, who was glaring at him from his place just off of the mat. He saw his teammates lined up on the bench, watching him patiently, and he felt some indescribable emotion wash over him. They expected so much.

"Clark! Are you deaf? Get over here!" Coach Morales was screaming at that point. Andy swallowed and walked over to the bench. John shot him a questioning look, but he just shook his head and walked past his coach and onto the mat, where his opponent was waiting. He was a big guy, bigger than Andy, but Andy wasn't afraid.; he'd creamed guys bigger than this one and he could do it again.

Andy took a deep breath and looked out at the stands one final time. His mother looked anxious, but that it was only because she always anxious; it was what mothers did best. His father, he knew, was also worried about him, but for entirely different reasons. He waited, hoping that his father would do something to show his support. A nod, a fist in the air, anything, but he didn't. He just sat silently in the stands, face hard and expressionless as he waited for the match to start.

"Son? Is everything okay?"

Andy blinked and looked over at the ref, who was waiting for him to enter the circle. He nodded and stepped forward, his arms and legs stiff with bitterness. He felt the anger seeping out from his bones, churning in his stomach. He sucked in a deep breath to calm himself, but the rage didn't go away. It simmered quietly for a minute until it boiled over, spilling into the air around him.

The whistle blew.

* * *

Claire snuck a peek at her watch. 10:17. _God, will this day ever be over? _She sighed and glanced up at Vernon, who was sitting at his table at the front of the room pretending to do a crossword puzzle. Claire knew that behind the crossword section, he was hiding a men's fitness magazine with articles titled 'Killer Abs in 90 Days' and 'Make Women Want You'. Ugh, as if.

Speaking of men she _did_ want (maybe), Bender was providing the group's entertainment for the second week in a row. He'd already managed to insult Vernon's clothing (again), smoke three cigarettes (while Vernon was still in the room), whistle the theme song from every television show since I Love Lucy and, last but not least, completely ignore her. How irritating.

Claire turned around in her seat about a fraction of an inch, hoping not to draw any attention to herself. She tilted her head to the side, pretending that she was just tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bender leaning backwards onto the table behind him, head resting on his arm. He was sound asleep.

Claire turned all the way around to get a better look. She'd never been one to go for rebels before, or brunettes. She'd always preferred the blonde pretty boys like Jordan, whom she'd had a huge crush on for months before detention. At least, she'd always told herself that she wanted him; maybe that was a lie, too.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that it isn't polite to stare at people?"

Claire jumped as Bender opened his eyes and glared at her. She rolled her eyes and turned back around. At the front of the room, Vernon folded up the "crossword" he was doing and stood up. "I'm going to use the restroom, but I'll be back in a moment."

"I warned you, sir. That coffee is a messy business."

"Shut up, Bender."

As soon as Vernon was out of the room, Claire took a quick glance around. There were more delinquents this week, eight total. Most of them were still asleep, though a few were taking the opportunity to stretch their legs or chat with a neighbor. Claire turned around in her seat and looked at Bender's bruised face. "What happened to you?" She whispered.

"What the fuck do you care?"

Claire tried not to blush as everyone in the room turned to look at them. She pursed her lips in embarrassment and tried to keep her voice steady. "I do care."

"Yeah? How's that working out for you?"

Claire's mouth dropped open. "Bastard!"

"Temper, temper."

Claire sighed and turned back around in her seat. A few minutes later, Vernon returned from the restroom and settled back into his seat. For the next hour, Claire dozed, filed her nails, took mental inventory of her shoe collection, and tried very hard not to turn around and yell at John Bender for being such a stubborn asshole.

"Alright, that's thirty minutes for lunch." Vernon glared at the crowd, as if someone was going to challenge him on it. He pointed at a tall, skinny boy sitting on the front row across the aisle. "You. Go get everyone some drinks." The boy sighed and got up, then went around collecting money before leaving the room.

Claire reached for the white bag next to her seat, then pulled out a plastic container of cold cucumber soup and a spoon. A few people were talking quietly around her, but Vernon didn't seem to notice or care. She took a few bites of her soup and glanced back at Bender, who was watching her with a bored expression on his face. She pulled a container of sliced papaya and offered it to him hesitantly. "You want some?"

Bender's face reddened, though with anger or embarrassment, she couldn't tell. "What am I, a stray dog?"

"No, I was just-"

"Turn around, Princess."

Claire paused momentarily, then turned back around feeling worse than ever. She set the papaya on the table and went back to her soup, though it seemed even more tasteless than before. To her left, Jordan was eating a rather thick ham and cheese sandwich. He glanced over at her and smiled. She shot him an embarrassed smile in return and turned away.

"So, do you, like, have Mr. Waverly for physics class?" Claire looked over at Jordan, who was waiting expectantly for an answer. She nodded and he grinned, showing off a piece of lettuce stuck between his teeth. "Me, too. That class is so hard, man."

Claire snuck a look back at Bender, who was watching the exchange with a smirk on his face. She turned back to Jordan and tried to ignore the fact that Bender was watching them. "Yeah, it is."

"Like, why are we going to need to know all this stuff? I mean, when I'm playing professional football for the Chicago Bears, it's not like I'm going to need to know, like, the termin…" He paused, looking for the right word. "Terminator velocity of, like, my football or whatever." He rolled his eyes.

Claire smiled. "You mean, terminal velocity?"

"Yeah, that."

Behind her, Claire could hear Bender laughing, but she tried not to pay any attention. "Yeah, it's a hard class," she said politely.

A few minutes later, the boy with the Cokes returned and passed them around the room. Jordan popped open his can and took a big swig. When he set it back down on the table, he glanced over at Claire again. "Do you know how many, like, weird chemicals are in this?"

Claire's eyes widened at the word 'chemical', surprised that he knew it. "Uh, no… how many?"

Jordan paused thoughtfully for a moment, then shook his head. "Well, I don't know, but there's, like, a lot. Coach says we shouldn't drink them because all the chemicals will, like, destroy our bodies or whatever." He took another swig and wiped his mouth. "But I have to drink this now because I don't really have a choice, you know?"

Claire nodded as though this fascinated her. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Brian stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at his mother in disbelief. "This isn't fair!"

"I don't care if it's fair, Brian."

"But David is on his way over, Mom! I just talked to him!"

Mrs. Johnson narrowed her eyes. "What do you want me to do, Brian? Leave Carolyn all alone to fend for herself?"

Brian closed his eyes. "No, of course not."

"You have a responsibility to this family, young man, and I suggest you start taking it seriously."

Brian nodded. His mother grabbed her purse and a set of car keys from the kitchen counter. "No ice cream, remember?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Good. I'll be back this afternoon. And don't just stick her in front of the television!" Without waiting for a response, she closed the door behind her, leaving Brian to his misery.

"Where is Mommy going?"

Brian looked over at his sister, Leah, who was sitting at the dining room table surrounded by crayons and paper. "To Aunt Carolyn's and Uncle Gene's."

"Why?"

"Because Aunt Carolyn has the flu and Uncle Gene is out of town on business."

Leah clucked her tongue and went back to her drawing. Brian sighed and sat down beside her, crossing his arms on the table and letting his head fall onto his forearms. He sat that way for a couple of minutes before he felt Leah patting his head. "Are you sick, too?"

"Yeah, sick of babysitting you."

Leah stuck out her bottom lip defiantly. "I'm not a baby."

Brian ignored her and looked out the window leading to the street. A few minutes later, a red Pontiac Firebird pulled up to the curb in front of his house and David jumped out, shutting the door behind him. Brian stood up from the table and managed to reach the door just before David started to knock. "Hey, are you ready?"

Brian sighed. "I can't go. My mom's making me stay and watch Leah."

"Oh." David pushed up his glasses and glanced back at his father's car. "Well, we don't have to go to my house. We can stay here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Hold on a second while I tell my dad." David ran over to the car and leaned over the top of the passenger door. A few seconds later, he jogged back up the front walkway. David's father waved at Brian from the car, then sped off down the street.

"I'm sorry about Dungeons and Dragons. I know you really wanted to play."

David shrugged. "It doesn't matter. We'll play some other time." When they walked into the kitchen, David grinned. "Princess Leah!"

"Hi." Leah smiled shyly from her chair and bit her lip. She had a little crush on David, mainly because he always called her by her nickname, which she adored.

"It looks like we get to hang out today." Leah kept smiling as David sat down beside her. "If only Brian weren't here. He's such a drag."

"Hey!"

"Oops, I think he heard us."

Leah giggled. "Can we go to the park?"

"No."

Leah frowned at Brian. "I wasn't asking you."

"Well, I'm the one in charge and I say we're not going."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to."

Leah's chin started to wobble a little and she looked down at her drawing. Brian felt his stomach tighten. He hated seeing Leah cry. It gave him the worst feeling in the world, even worse than having his mom breathing down his neck about grades. He watched her color in silence for a moment, then looked over at David, who just shrugged. Brian sighed. "Fine, let's go."

Leah's head jerked up. He could see a tear stain on one of her cheeks. "Really?"

"Yes, go get your shoes on." Brian tried to sound irritated, though he was really just glad to see her smiling again. Leah jumped up from the table and ran into the living room. Brian sighed and looked over at David. "Ready for the jungle gym?"

……….

"Push me higher, Brian!"

"If I push you any higher, you'll fall off."

"I want to go over the top!"

"That's not possible, Leah."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't. And even if it were, you'd probably fall off and break your neck."

Leah pumped her legs as she came back towards him, apparently not understanding the severity of a broken neck. David came up beside Brian and watched them for a moment, laughing when Leah accidentally kicked Brian in the shoulder on the way back down. "I'm gonna go play on the big toy. Care to join me?"

Brian glared at him. "Very funny, but as you can see, I'm busy."

"Hey, that wasn't a joke."

"I want to play on the big toy!" Brian stopped the swing and she jumped out, making a beeline for the large wooden toy in the center of the park. By the time David and Brian reached the monstrosity, Leah was on the top level, looking out over the slide. "I'm going to slide down now!" She sank down onto the wooden platform. "Brian, catch me!"

Brian stood at the bottom of the slide as Leah pushed off from the top. She had a hard time reaching the bottom because the rubber soles of her pink Cabbage Patch sneakers kept rubbing against the metal slide, impeding her process. By the time she reached the bottom, she had virtually no momentum at all. Brian picked her up from the bottom of the slide and set her down on the bed of gravel.

"Now it's your turn."

"I'm not going on the slide."

"Please?"

Brian sighed. God, he was such a sucker. "Fine."

Leah ran ahead of him. By the time Brian reached the top, Leah was already sitting at the top of the slide with David standing at the bottom waiting to 'catch' her. "Don't let me fall, David!"

David saluted and hunched over the bottom of the slide rather dramatically. Leah pushed off from the top and made it to the bottom a few seconds later, sneakers dragging all the way. David pulled her off the slide, then turned back to Brian, who was still standing on the top level, hoping Leah would forget that he was supposed to follow her.

"Come on, Brian. I'll catch you!" Brian glared at David menacingly, but David only laughed. "Don't be scared!"

"I'm not scared, David. Get out of my way." Brian sat down and swung his long legs over onto the slide. Leah tugged on David's sweater, then whispered something in his ear. He nodded and looked back at Brian. "Never mind. We're up next." He and Leah disappeared from view as they started towards the ladder.

Brian sighed, feeling incredibly stupid sitting at the top of a kiddie slide all by himself. He pushed off from the top and started his descent. His shoes squeaked as they rubbed against the metal, slowing him down until he was virtually stopped about three fourths of the way to the bottom. He groaned and pushed forward, but was surprised by how successful the move was. Without warning, he pitched forward into the bed of gravel, with his arms stretched out to break his fall.

"You okay, Brian?" David had to yell for Brian to hear him, since he was already at the top of the slide, ready to give Leah a big push. Brian didn't answer him, but rose unsteadily to his feet.

"I'm coming, Brian!" Leah slid and skidded her way down the slide, coming to a stop in the exact same spot that Brian had only seconds earlier. "You didn't catch me!" She stood up and jumped onto the gravel bed.

"Brian, are you okay?" David asked again. When Brian still didn't answer, he started sliding down. "Hey, don't get mad at me for making fun of you. I was just kidding." Brian still didn't answer as David came up beside him. "What's wrong?"

Brian pulled up the sleeve of his sweater, revealing his wrist and forearm. "I don't know. I just… landed on my arm funny."

David reached forward and wrapped a hand around Brian's wrist. "Does this hurt?"

"No."

David inched higher, applying slight pressure. "What about this?"

"No."

"This?"

"No…OW!" Brian jerked his arm away. "_That_ hurt!"

David cringed. "Well, uh, I guess it would."

"And why's that?"

"Because I think you just broke your arm."

* * *

A/N: Dun dun dun! Don't worry, I won't keep you in suspense about Brian for too long. And Claire and Bender in detention? What do you people want! For them to start making out the minute he walked in the door? LOL, wait, don't answer that. I probably already know the answer! Anyway, detention isn't over yet, so don't get upset. Trust me, there is more to come… 


	25. You're Totalled, Man

A/N: Warning: some sexual innuendos, mildly graphic sexual references and, of course cussing. It's Bender, what do you expect?

This chapter is dedicated to Ace's Buddy, who wrote: 'I live for Jealous Bender!' I hope it's everything you ever wanted in a chapter…

* * *

Chapter Twenty-five: You're Totalled, Man

* * *

"Four weeks?"

"At least. I want you to come back in a month and we'll take another look at it then." Dr. Osborne smiled apologetically at Brian and put the x-ray in a folder on the counter. "Who's the little girl in the waiting room?"

"My sister."

"I thought so. She seemed very worried about you."

Brian shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

The doctor pushed his glasses up and took a seat in his rolling chair. "I think she's under the impression that the accident was her fault." He lifted his eyebrows at Brian and opened the cabinet below the counter. "She must be stronger than she looks."

Brian sighed. "It wasn't her fault. Well… not really."

Dr. Osborne nodded and pulled a box out from the cabinet. "She made a request."

Brian glanced up at him curiously. "For what?"

The doctor removed a small red lollypop from the box. "She wanted you to have one of these."

Brian rolled his eyes and accepted the candy. "Thanks."

"No problem." The doctor reached into the box and pulled out two more. "Here's one for her and your friend as well."

Brian smiled wanly. "Thanks." He lifted his right arm in the air, surprised by how heavy the cast was. "This is going to take a while before I, you know... before I can get used to it."

Dr. Osborne rose from his chair and opened the exam room door. "Are you right-handed?"

Brian nodded and followed him out into the hallway. "I don't know what I'm going to do about school. How am I supposed to, you know, take notes and write papers and stuff?" He sighed. "My mom is going to kill me."

The doctor smiled sadly. "I think it's pretty clear that you didn't do this on purpose and most teachers will help you out when it comes to the work." He put out his left hand and Brian shook it awkwardly. "Good luck, Brian. I'll see you back here in a month."

Brian nodded glumly and looked out into the waiting room, where Leah, David and David's father, Mr. Anderson, were sitting patiently. Leah and David were playing a game of tic-tac-toe with a pad of construction paper and some crayons while Mr. Anderson read a crime novel. When Leah saw Brian approach, her eyes widened and she jumped up from her chair. "Can I see it?"

Brian held out his arm and she ran her fingers lightly over the plaster surface. "Can I draw on it?"

"Not right now."

"When we get home?"

"Maybe."

Leah paused and bit her lip. "I'm really sorry," she said quietly.

"It's okay."

Her eyes filled up with tears. "I didn't mean to make you go on the slide. I just-"

"I know you didn't mean to." He knelt down on the floor and gathered her into a hug. "It's my fault, you know. If I were better at sliding, like you are, I wouldn't have fallen."

Leah let out a small, breathy giggle into his ear. "I can teach you."

"Promise?"

"Uh huh."

Brian let her go and rose to his feet. Mr. Anderson smiled at him as they started walking out to the car. "How does the arm feel?"

"Oh, it's fine." He lifted it into the air and waved it around a little bit to show the mobility. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

Mr. Anderson nodded and stopped when they reached the car. "Looks like it's going to rain soon. We should get you two home." The four of them settled into the luxurious leather seats and Mr. Anderson grinned at Brian through the rearview mirror. "We just have one stop to make first."

"Two!" Leah exclaimed from the front seat, smiling brightly.

David's father laughed. "That's right. I forgot. Two stops to make."

Thirty minutes later, the Andersons dropped Brian and his sister off at their house. Both Brian and Leah were carrying milkshakes from McDonald's and clutched in Leah's other hand was a set of permanent markers for her next art project… Brian's cast.

* * *

By about two o'clock, Bender was starting to get tired. Tired of antagonizing Vernon, tired of staring at the back of Claire's head, tired of listening to Jordan ramble on and on about football plays and strength training exercises. Most of all, he was tired of watching Claire nod along to Jordan's stories as though she'd never heard anything so fascinating in her entire life.

Vernon was taking another "bathroom break", though Bender was pretty sure that he was just wandering the halls, talking to himself and practicing his ninja moves on the fire extinguishers. Either that or the coffee was really getting to him.

"So, Coach Maxwell says that if I keep playing the way I did this past season that I'm a shoe-in for Notre Dame. After that, it's just a matter of time before the big guys start noticing me."

"Wow, that's great, Jordan."

Bender snorted. Claire shot him a menacing look, but he just glared back. A few seconds later, Vernon walked back into the room. "Alright, who needs to use the lavatory?"

A few hands shot up, including Jordan's. Bender, though he did have to pee, stayed put. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Claire hadn't raised her hand either.

"You all, come with me. Everyone else, stay put until I get back."

"Don't worry, sir. I'll keep em in line."

Vernon narrowed his eyes at Bender, apparently reconsidering his decision to leave him alone in the room. "I'll bet you will. No monkey business, Mr. Bender."

The bathroom group exited the library, leaving Claire and Bender alone for the first time all day. She immediately turned around to face him. "I want to know what happened to you."

"No."

"Tell me."

"When you put it so nicely, how can I refuse?"

"Stop being such an asshole."

"Why? Apparently, it's what I do best."

Claire paused and stared at him for a long time. "Was it Andy?"

Bender smiled bitterly. "In a manner of speaking."

"What does that mean?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because I want to know. What did he do?"

Bender clenched his jaw and looked her in the eye. "He sent his friends after me."

Claire's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"He couldn't finish the job so he sent his goons to do it for him. Happy?"

"He wouldn't do that."

Bender's eyes blazed. "Yeah, well, he did!"

Claire's expression softened as her eyes flickered over his bruises. "Who was it?"

"I don't know. Wrestling jerks."

"You don't know any of them?"

"No, but one guy had a letter jacket on. John Hamilton."

Claire gasped. "That's Andy's friend. I mean, like, his best friend." Bender nodded and reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. "You shouldn't do that in here."

"Why not?" He smirked. "You afraid of… _secondhand smoke_?"

Claire glared at him. "Maybe."

"Well, I think you should be more concerned about your I.Q. after sitting next to that idiot all day. Hell, I think I'm stupider already."

"You don't have to be so rude. He's a nice guy."

Bender snorted. "Yeah, right."

"He is."

"So, why don't you marry him?"

Claire huffed. "Maybe I will!"

"Good. I hope you have a happy life together."

"We will."

"With lots of little babies."

"We _will_!"

"And I hope they're all mentally deficient football players, just like their father!"

"They will be!"

"Good!"

"Fine!"

Claire whirled back around in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. He could see her breasts rising and falling as she fumed. Damn, she was beautiful; it was a shame she pissed him off so much.

Bender looked up at the ceiling until Vernon and the bathroom gang came back. Bender couldn't tell if Vernon looked relieved or disappointed to see him sitting exactly where he'd been sitting before with absolutely nothing in the room vandalized or set on fire. Bender smirked, but Vernon just glared at him and took his seat at the front of the room.

The next hour passed very slowly. Every time Vernon left the room (which was becoming more and more often, as Bender suspected that he was just as bored as the students), Jordan would start talking to Claire again, droning on and on and on until Bender felt that he just couldn't take it anymore. He tempered his impatience by making obscene gestures at the jock behind his back. The fact that Claire could see everything only made it more fun.

"So, everybody's getting together at Sam's house tonight for a party. It's gonna be really awesome."

"Yeah, I'm sure it will be."

"You could come if you want."

Bender, who had been bored with the conversation up until that point, leaned backwards in his seat. Claire must have seen the movement because she glanced over at him nervously. "Um… I don't know."

"It's going to be a blast."

"I know. I'm sure it will be."

"So, why not go? We'll have so much fun."

Bender lifted his eyebrows as Claire glanced back at him again. "I don't know. My mom's still mad about me getting detention. I don't think she'll let me."

"Oh. Well, you can talk her out of it, can't you?"

Bender narrowed his eyes at the back of Jordan's head. _She said no, alright, asshole? _Claire sighed and shook her head. "I don't know."

"You could at least try, right?"

Bender snorted. "Sounds like some guys just can't handle rejection."

Jordan whipped around in his seat. "What did you just say?"

"I said that it sounds like some guys just can't-"

"Yeah, I heard you the first time. Why are you butting into our business?"

Bender felt a little foolish for speaking so impulsively, but tried not to let it show. "I was just tryin' to help you out. You know, man to man."

"Well, I don't need your help."

Bender nodded understandingly. "Yeah, I could see that you almost had her there. Another ten minutes and she would have been panting like a dog in heat."

"You asshole!" Claire glared at Bender, mouth wide open. "Take that back!"

By then, the three of them had the attention of every student in the room. Jordan's nostrils flared as he sneered at Bender. "Yeah, well, maybe she would have been if _you_ hadn't butted in!"

"Hey!" Claire was glaring at Jordan, looking even angrier at him than she'd been at Bender, if that was possible. "_Both_ of you take it back!"

Bender ignored Claire and kept his eyes focused on Jordan. "Maybe if you didn't wear your jock so tight, it wouldn't cut off the circulation to your brain and you wouldn't be such a _fuckin'_ idiot!"

"Hey! I am not even _wearing_ my jockstrap right now!"

"Oh, so you're just naturally retarded."

"No!" Jordan looked confused, as if he couldn't figure out what he'd said wrong. He jumped to his feet and glared down at Bender. "Come on, man! Let's go! I heard about your little fight in the hall… and under the bleachers. Sounds like you're not too good with your fists."

Bender jumped up as well and they stood face to face with only a table separating them. "My _fists_…work just fine, asshole."

"Prove it then. I know my strength."

"Sounds like someone's overcompensating."

Jordan's face flushed deeply. "I'm not… _overconfiscating_! I could wax the floor with your face if I wanted to!"

"It's carpet, dipshit."

"So?"

"So, you can't wax carpet!" Bender rolled his eyes. "God, you're so fucking stupid!"

Jordan didn't bother to argue. Instead, he lunged over the table and knocked John Bender onto the aforementioned carpet.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I know, I know. Bender gets into another fight. Third time in one week, though technically the second one wasn't his fault. I guess he just can't help himself.

Please review!


	26. Down Came The Rain

A/N: Read and review, please.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-six: Down Came the Rain

* * *

Andy stared out the window of his father's Bronco, watching the trees along the sidewalk blur into a thick green line. He glanced up at the front seat, where his parents were sitting silently. His mother turned back to look at him and gave him a hesitant smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

She nodded and reached back to pat his knee, then thought better of it and moved her hand away. "Is it still hurting you?"

"Just a little."

"You should take some aspirin when we get home."

"I'll be okay." Andy glanced into the rearview mirror, where he could see his father watching him with a hard look on his face.

"Robert?"

"Hmmm?"

"Could we stop and get something to eat?"

"I thought you were going to make roast beef."

Mrs. Clark turned and glared at her husband. "Well, I changed my mind. I don't feel like cooking."

Mr. Clark sighed and turned into the McDonald's parking lot, sliding in right beside a cherry red Pontiac Firebird. Andy's eyes flickered enviously over the gleaming hubcaps.

"Robert."

"What?"

"Stop staring."

Mr. Clark frowned at his wife. "I wasn't staring."

"Yes, you were." She turned back to Andy. "What do you want, honey? We'll get it for you."

"Just…one of everything."

When his parents were gone, Andy let out a deep breath and stretched out in the back seat, closing his eyes. His knee was sore, but it wasn't as bad as it could be. A couple of aspirin and a warm shower and he'd be as good as new…

He woke up just as they were pulling into the garage. His senses were assaulted as the sound of rain bouncing off of the driveway hit his ears and the smell of French fries filled his nose. His mother turned back and smiled at him. "Wake up, sleepy head."

Andy groaned and sat up in his seat. He followed his parents into the house, where his father opened the bags of fast food on the kitchen counter. Mr. Clark took his own meal into the living room and turned on the television to the college basketball tournament. Andy grabbed a hamburger and started eating before his mother could stop him.

"Use a plate. We aren't barbarians."

"Speak for yourself."

Mrs. Clark narrowed her eyes and handed him a plate from the cabinet above her head. Andy accepted it and finished off the burger in silence. From the living room, he could hear the basketball announcer getting excited about a play. "Sounds like Dad's having fun," he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

His mother seemed to know what he was thinking. "He's not an emotional person, Andy. He doesn't express himself well."

"Yeah, well, he expressed himself well enough to me just before the meet." Andy grabbed the sack and dumped a pile of chicken nuggets onto his plate.

"He just wanted you to do well."

"Yeah, I got that part."

Mrs. Clark stepped forward and put her arms around her son's shoulders. He flinched, then returned the hug. "He loves you." Andy didn't say anything. "And so do I."

Andy sighed. "I love you, too, Mom."

"We're always proud of you… no matter what."

"I know."

"Win or lose…"

Andy nodded and she released him. He squirted some ketchup onto his plate and started in on the chicken nuggets. Another burst of sound erupted from the living room. Another three-pointer for Georgetown.

Mrs. Clark finished her hamburger and put her plate in the sink. "Don't leave your plate on the counter."

He rolled his eyes. "I won't."

"Put it in the sink."

"I _will_."

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek before walking into the living room. Just as she reached the doorway, she paused and looked back at him. "Andy?"

He glanced up, his mouth full of French fries. "Yeah?"

She smiled warmly. "Congratulations."

* * *

Allison stared out at the small pond in the center of the park, watching the ducks swim back and forth across the surface. She glanced back at her sketchpad and wrinkled her nose at the horrible shading job she'd done on the edges of the water before adding a few subtle lines. She sighed. Better than nothing.

The park was virtually empty. The rain clouds kept most of the joggers at home on their treadmills and the dog walkers on their own streets, where the distance home was shorter in case of a sudden downpour. But there were a few brave souls out that day. On the other side of the pond, a couple was holding hands as they made the loop around, while a few kids were throwing pieces of bread at the ducks while their parents looked on, checking their watches every few minutes. There was even a man out jogging with his Golden Retriever. She'd already completed a picture of the dog.

Allison flipped back through the pictures she'd finished that day. Ducks and rain clouds and empty park benches and dogs. Animals and scenery, but no people. She sighed and turned to the next blank page. The couple on the other side of the pond had stopped to rest on a bench near the edge of the water. She squinted until they came into focus, laughing eyes and soft smiles and braided hands. She glanced back at her notepad and put the pen to the page before she could stop herself.

A few minutes later, the couple rose from the park bench, too engrossed in their own love story to notice that the shaggy haired girl on the other side of the pond was staring at them. It didn't matter, though, because Allison knew that she wasn't going to finish the drawing. Actually, she knew that she _couldn't_ finish the drawing. There was something too intimate about them, but not because they were so obviously in love. It was more about their humanity than anything else, about the fact that they had more going on inside than she could ever hope to capture in one sketch, or even a thousand.

A drop of rain fell onto the half-finished picture, smearing the ink. Allison looked up from the sketchpad as the family feeding the ducks started walking towards their car. The jogger with the dog and the two lovers had long since left the park. She was alone, as usual.

A couple more drops of rain fell onto her picture, but she didn't put it away. Instead, she let the rain fall on her face and hands and coat and pen and didn't move an inch. Within minutes, her hair was dripping with rainwater and the picture in her hand… ruined. She gazed curiously at the splotches of ink, trying to find the people inside, but they weren't there and probably never had been anyway. Instead, the picture looked like one of those pictures the guidance counselor would show her when she was being particularly unresponsive. Rorschach tests, that's what they were called. Her sketchpad had become one giant Rorschach test.

She sat on the bench for another ten minutes before collecting her things and going home.

* * *

Claire watched in horror as Jordan and Bender fell into a heap on the floor. "Oh, my God!" She pushed her chair aside and ran into the aisle, where the two boys were rolling around, grunting and cussing at each other.

"Get off me, faggot!"

"You first, asshole!"

Claire looked at the crowd of students around her, most of them standing up to get a better view of the action. "Somebody do something!" A couple of people gave her a blank look, but most of them kept their eyes glued to the writhing heap of body parts on the floor.

"Ow! You bastard!"

"You think that hurt?" Claire heard a thud, then a groan. "What about that?"

"Oh, my God! What did you do to him?" Claire stared at Bender, who slicked back his hair and stood up. Jordan was curled into a ball on the floor, his hands covering his crotch protectively.

"Well, you see, Claire, most men have these things called balls. Some of them…" He motioned at Jordan with his head. "…are very tiny. But all of them hurt when they're punched."

Claire gaped at him. "I can't believe you did that!"

"He's the one that started it!"

"Well, you didn't have to finish it!"

Bender's nostrils flared. "Oh, so I should have just taken it like a man, is that it? Let another sport beat the shit out of me?"

Claire took a deep breath. "No, I didn't-"

"What the hell is going on in here?" Claire turned to see Vernon striding through the library doors. "Why is everyone standing around? This isn't-" He stopped when he saw Jordan curled up on the floor. "What the hell happened to him?"

Jordan took the opportunity to jump in. "He attacked me!"

Vernon turned to Bender. "Alright, Bender, that's enough! You're coming with me!" He grabbed Bender by the collar and started dragging him away.

Claire felt the anger swell up inside of her. "It's not true, sir! Jordan's the one that started it! He-"

"Sit down, missy! I don't want to hear your stories!"

"But, sir, he-"

"SIT DOWN!"

Claire plopped down into her seat, angry tears flooding her eyes. _You bastard! _She watched Vernon drag John across the library, through the double doors and into the closet in Vernon's office. At least, she presumed he was taking him there; it wasn't like they were going out for ice cream.

Jordan collapsed into the seat next to her, his face still contorted in pain. She turned towards him. "Why did you have to do that? You coward, you…liar!"

Jordan sneered at her. "He called you a dog. Why are you defending him?"

Claire paused, considering his logic. _Why am I defending him? _"Yeah, well, _you_ didn't exactly jump in to protect my honor!"

Jordan shrugged. "Doesn't matter anyway. It's nothing new for him."

Claire glared at him, furious. She opened her mouth to speak, but found that she was too angry to say anything at all. She took a few deep breaths and slumped back in her seat.

About ten minutes later, Vernon burst through the library doors again. He glared at Claire, then turned to the rest of the group. "Mr. Bender will not be rejoining us today, much to everyone's disappointment, I'm sure." He glanced at his watch. "You still have twenty minutes. One sound from anyone and I'll be sure to give you a tour of his new home." He sat back down and went back to his magazine.

Claire considered speaking up just so she could join Bender in the closet, but decided against it. She spent the next twenty minutes staring at the clock and glaring at Vernon's forehead. Finally, the vice principal stole another glance at his watch. "Alright, get out of here."

Claire was the first one out into the hall. Without even considering the consequences, she ran into Vernon's office and flung open the closet door. Bender was sitting inside, head leaning back against the wall. He jumped a little when she opened the door, but relaxed when he saw who it was. Without saying a word, he grabbed his coat and brushed past her.

"Aren't you even going to say thank you?"

"Thank you."

Claire had to practically run to keep up with him as he made long strides down the hallway and out the double doors leading to the athletic fields. Outside, the sky was darker than it had been when she'd arrived at school. Judging by the dampness in the air and the grey rain clouds above them, it wouldn't be long before it started pouring. "Would you stop walking for just a minute?"

"No."

"John, please."

"Leave me alone."

Claire followed him under the bleachers until they reached the football field. She grabbed his coat, tugging him towards her. "John, stop!"

He turned towards her, eyes blazing. "What, Claire? What now? What on earth could you possibly need from me now?"

She stepped back, hurt. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Well, I'm not, alright?"

"What happened with you and Vernon?" She saw his eyes flicker nervously towards the grass. "He was gone for a long time. What'd he do?"

Bender took a deep breath. "He didn't do nothin', okay?"

Claire felt a couple drops of rain fall onto her face. "I'm sorry about Jordan. He's an asshole."

Bender scoffed. "Oh, really? I hadn't noticed. I guess I was too busy trying to dodge his fists."

Claire sighed. "It's not my fault, alright? If you hadn't been so hotheaded, he wouldn't have-"

"Wouldn't have what? Wouldn't have tackled me?"

Claire swallowed. "Yeah."

Bender shook his head. "I don't need this. I don't fucking need this right now." He started to walk away just as the raindrops started falling faster. In her haste, she'd left her jacket in the library, so her arms were wet and cold. She reached out and put a hand on Bender's shoulder.

"Wait. Don't walk away from me!" He turned back and looked her in the eye, waiting. She licked her lips nervously. "I want to know why you said those things to me last week."

Bender ran a hand over his hair, which was soaked by then. Thunder clapped in the distance as the rain continued to pour. "Because they were true."

"No, they weren't."

"I beg to differ."

"It was just an excuse, John. You needed an excuse and you found one."

Bender shook his head angrily. "When did you become my goddamned shrink? You don't even know me. You don't know what I do when I go home at night, you don't know who my friends are and you sure as hell don't know what I think about!"

"I think I do!"

"Well, congratulations!" He paused, wiping a sheet of rain from his face. She hugged herself tightly to fend off the cold and waited for him to continue. He looked at her for a moment before speaking. "We don't fit together, Claire, or haven't you noticed? I'm not going to pick you up for a date at the fuckin' drive-in or buy you a corsage for the prom."

"What if I don't want any of that?"

"Well, what _do_ you want? For me to be your _boyfriend_?" Claire swallowed nervously, but didn't say anything. "Because I don't do the boyfriend gig. I've already told you that."

"Yeah, and both of us know what an honest guy you are."

Bender glared at her. "And we both know what a bitch you can be, so I guess we're even."

Claire snorted angrily. "Well, we're perfect for one another then, aren't we?"

"Yeah, two peas in a fuckin' pod."

Without hesitating, Claire stepped forward and kissed him. His mouth was cold and slick with rain. For a moment, he didn't react, only stood there as she moved her mouth over his. The rain fell all around them, running over her arms and face, soaking through Bender's overcoat until it was nothing but a heavy, soggy mess. She felt him relax as though he were about to return the kiss, but suddenly he pulled away and stepped backward. She looked at him questioningly, but couldn't read the expression on his face. Anger, disappointment, self-loathing…

Without a word, he turned away from her and started walking across the football field. She stood shivering in the middle of the thunderstorm, even though her shoes were ruined and her makeup was gone and her hair was plastered against her face. She stood there until he reached the opposite end of the football field and disappeared from view.

* * *

A/N: Please review. Constructive criticism accepted and appreciated. 


	27. Who Ya Gonna Call?

A/N: Just a quick note for those of you wondering why Allison wasn't at Andy's meet. She didn't ditch him or anything; he even said that he hadn't asked her to come, but was just _hoping_ that she would decide to show up on her own.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-seven: Who Ya Gonna Call?

* * *

Andy called Allison as soon as he finished eating. The phone rang a few times before a man answered. "Hello?"

"Um, hello, sir. Can I speak to Allison, please?"

"One moment. Let me get her." Andy heard some shuffling as the man set the phone down. A full minute passed before he heard anything else. "I'm sorry, but it looks like she's gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes, would you like me to take a message?"

For some reason, the word 'gone' caused Andy to worry a little bit. He couldn't help but think back to their time in detention, when she'd dumped all of her things onto the couch next to Brian. _You never know when you may have to jam… _"Um, no, that's okay. I'll call back later."

He took a couple of aspirin and jumped into the shower. By the time he was out, his knee was feeling a lot better, but he was also really tired. Without meaning to, he fell asleep in his room and didn't wake up until his mom knocked on his door at around 8:00.

"Andy? Are you in there?"

Andy groaned and sat up. "Yeah."

"John's on the phone."

"Okay." Andy took his time standing up, as his knee tended to be stiff after he slept. He stumbled into the living room and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Andy! Where the fuck are you, man?"

"Where do you think I am, stupid? You called me."

"Don't be such a prick. You were supposed to come get us, remember?"

Andy thought for a moment, then sighed. "Oh, Sam's thing."

"Yeah, so get your ass over here. Susan's getting bored and we've resorted to other _activities_ in your absence." Andy heard a small thud in the background. "Ow! I was just kidding…" John sighed and returned to the phone. "Dude, can you hurry up? If this lasts much longer, she's going to break up with me."

Andy laughed. "She should have done it a long time ago, you asshole."

"Probably, but _she_ doesn't know that yet. So, come on. When're you gonna be here?"

Andy rubbed the back of his neck. "Um… I don't know if I'm goin', man."

"What? Why not? It's gonna be killer."

Andy glanced around to be sure that his parents weren't within earshot and brought his voice down to a whisper. "I'm sure it will be, but I don't really feel like standing around while everyone else gets wasted. It's not that much fun."

"Uh, you're right. It doesn't sound like much fun. That's why you're going to drink tonight."

"I can't, John. You _know_ I can't."

"Why? Because your old man said not to? Screw it! What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Andy swallowed deeply. "If it weren't wrestling season, you know I'd be all over it, but it's not. _I can't go_. I'll be dead meat if he finds out."

"He's not going to be at the party, Andy! Look, it'll be fine, alright? Just bring a change of clothes and a pack of breath mints. I'll see you in ten minutes." And then he hung up.

Andy sighed and put the phone back in its cradle. He was so screwed.

…………

When Andy, John and Susan arrived on Sam's street, there were already dozens of cars lining the block. They found a free space about a block away from the house and walked the rest of the way. Susan, who had conveniently forgotten her coat, was wearing John's letter jacket. John hated to be without the jacket and always begrudged her for requesting to borrow it.

"I didn't buy that jacket and earn those patches just so my girlfriend could steal it from me whenever she got cold."

Susan frowned and pulled a few strands of her dark brown hair out from under the collar. "What do you want me to do, freeze to death?"

"No, I want you to remember your damn coat so I don't have to lend you mine all the time."

She pouted and hooked arms with him. "Don't be mad, baby."

"I'm not mad. I'm just cold."

"I'll warm you up…"

"Yeah? And just how do you plan on doing that?"

"Well…"

Andy cleared his throat. "Uh, guys?"

John looked up at his friend, clearly distracted. "Yeah?"

"Party's in here."

"Personally, Andy, I'm more interested in the party in her _pants_."

Susan smacked him on the arm, but couldn't keep the smile off of her face. "You're such a pig, John Hamilton!"

John laughed and smacked her lightly on the butt before taking off into the house. Susan squealed and gave chase and Andy rolled his eyes and followed them inside. Sam Dakota's house was even bigger than Stubby's which was hard to imagine since Stubby's parents were richer than God and weren't ashamed to show it. Sam's parents, who were away on vacation in the Mediterranean or something, had at least 4,000 square feet and a gigantic pool in the backyard.

Andy nodded at a few of his fellow wrestlers, who were lounging in the living room and the front hall. A few people clapped him on the back or shouted at him from across the room, each expressing congratulations for his win earlier that day. He made his way to the kitchen, where Susan was pressed up against the wall, laughing hysterically as John tickled her. John went in for a kiss, but she ducked under his arm and ran into the living room, blowing him a kiss as she went. John let out a frustrated sigh and turned to Andy. "I'm gonna get us some beer."

Andy waited as John retrieved the drinks. A girl from Andy's math class spotted him from across the room and walked over to join him. "Hey, Andy."

"Hey, Tricia."

"I heard you won today. Surprise, surprise."

He chuckled. "Uh, yeah, I did."

Tricia smirked. "I would have come, but I had dance practice. You know, for drill team." Andy nodded, not knowing what he was supposed to say to that. "Anyway, maybe I'll be able to come for the finals." She lifted her eyebrows in challenge. "You _will_ be at the finals, won't you?"

Andy's eyes widened. "Well, uh… I hope so."

Tricia smiled. "Of course you will be. You're Andy Clark. No one can beat you."

Andy nodded and stole a quick glance at the keg, where John was holding two cups of beer and chatting with one of the baseball guys running the tap. When John looked over at his friend, Andy shot him a 'help me' look and turned back to Tricia.

"That's, uh, that's really nice of you, Tricia."

She took a sip of beer, shooting him a seductive look over the rim of her cup. "So, do you want to go upstairs? I-"

"Hey, Tricia! Long time no see."

Tricia turned and sneered at John, who handed Andy a cup of beer. "Hello, _John_."

"You look soooo beautiful tonight. Love the satin panties. That's _always_ a classy look."

Tricia clenched her jaw and tugged on the hem of her rather short skirt. "I see you're still as charming as ever."

"That _and_ more. Isn't there some poor bastard you need to be giving gonorrhea right about now?"

Tricia huffed. "I'll see you later, Andy."

"Bye, now." John gave her a small wave, then turned back to Andy and rolled his eyes. "Slut."

"You're one to talk."

"Drink your damn beer."

Andy laughed and took a sip. "But just one, okay? I'm not getting drunk tonight, John."

John took a drink from his own cup. "Don't get your panties all in a wad. It's not like I'm forcing it down your throat or something."

Andy rolled his eyes and took another sip from his cup. A few more people walked by extending their congratulations for his win. He thanked all of them, feeling a bit embarrassed, but also a bit exhilarated. After an afternoon with his father, some excitement over his victory was a welcome treat.

After the eightieth person slapped him on the back as they passed, Andy looked down at his cup, realizing that he'd already finished off the entire thing. He swirled the last few drops around and looked up at John, who was watching him expectantly. "You want another?"

"No," he said a little too quickly. John looked at him skeptically, but didn't say anything. Andy glanced over at the keg. He could still hear his father's voice in his head. _Drinking makes you stupid, Andrew! It makes you lose control!_ Andy clenched his jaw, remembering the match that afternoon. He had lost control, but it felt good. It felt good to let out his anger and win as a result. It felt good to have someone tell him that he did a good job instead of saying absolutely nothing at all. It felt good to have people smile at him and clap him on the back instead of giving him hard looks through the rearview mirror. Yeah, it felt good to lose control.

Andy looked up at John, who was still watching him, this time with concern. "You know, man… I think I will have another."

…………

An hour later, Andy was flat out drunk. He'd had another beer… and another. And another. And a couple of jello shots. And a few sips of vodka. He felt a little queasy as he wandered upstairs in search of a bathroom to throw up in. Beer before liquor, never sicker. Or was it the other way around? Well, it didn't matter anyway because he'd had lots of both without bothering to worry about the order. Maybe if John had been there the whole time, he could have reminded him, but John had wandered off about halfway into his third beer to look for Susan.

So, Andy was drunk and nauseous and lost in a really big house. With lots of breakable things. He dodged a large ceramic vase on the second floor landing and nearly ran into a wall. He scanned the hallway, but had no idea where the bathroom was. He opened the first door he came to, but was disappointed to find a couple making out on the bed. He shut the door quickly and opened the next one.

"So, I was, like, come on, man! I'll fight you! I'm not scared! And then I tackled him and we started fighting and I ended up on top, so I punched him in the nuts and he fell over and just started crying, you know? It was kind of sad, actually, except that it wasn't because he was a real asshole… oh, hey, Clark." Andy narrowed his eyes to focus. It was one of the football players, someone that he had a class with. History maybe, or English.

"Jordan?"

"Hey, man, what's up? You know Cheryl?" He motioned towards a wide-eyed blonde sitting on the bed.

"Hey."

"Hey," she said.

Andy looked back at Jordan. "Uh, do you, uh, do you know where the bathroom is?"

Jordan furrowed his brow. "Uh, I think it's two doors down."

"Okay, thanks, man."

"No problem." Jordan turned back to Cheryl and continued the story. "So, I was, like, that's what you get, you know, when you mess with someone with my strength…"

Andy shut the door and stumbled down the hall. When he reached the bathroom, he fell against the toilet and leaned his head against the rim. He'd never felt so horrible in his whole life. Well, since the off-season, anyway. It had been so long that he almost forgot what it felt like to be drunk.

Suddenly, he leaned over the edge of the bowl and was sick in the toilet. When he finished, he wiped his mouth off with his sleeve and leaned back against the wall. _I have got to get out of here…_

Andy stood up shakily and washed his face in the sink. Back in the hall, he opened a couple of doors, looking for a phone. Finally, he stumbled across an office. He took a seat at the desk and looked around for a phone book, but when he opened it, the words swam over the page, making him even more nauseous. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a few deep breaths. The feeling passed and he opened his eyes again. When he did, they settled on something very helpful: a school directory. He grabbed the book triumphantly, then paused. Who was he going to call? Everyone he knew was somewhere in the building.

After just a moment of thought, Andy reached for the phone.

* * *

Claire woke up from a rather long nap at about eight o'clock that evening. She was surprised to see that her windows were dark and that the rain was still pouring outside. There was something about the rain that made her very sleepy. That, combined with an emotionally draining afternoon in detention and…well, she was tired.

Claire sat up in bed and ran her fingers through her hair. She groaned when she realized that she hadn't even bothered to set it with her curlers before falling asleep. Some of the strands in the back were still damp from her shower, but most of them had dried and were sticking out from her head in various directions. She tried to smooth them out, with no success.

She got out of bed and padded across the room to her adjoining bathroom. One look in the mirror and she couldn't help but cringe. She wasn't wearing any makeup, her hair looked like a rat's nest, her eyes were puffy from sleep, and the color of her satin camisole was totally clashing with her skin tone. Ugh, why hadn't she realized that before she bought it?

As she washed her face, her thoughts turned to John. God, she was so embarrassed. The way she'd practically thrown himself at him… she leaned forward onto the counter and buried her face in her hands. The worst part, even worse than the embarrassment part, was the rejection. He'd rejected her. Her. Claire. Rejected. Those two words weren't supposed to go together. Ever.

She needed to call Natasha.

Claire went back into her bedroom and picked up her phone. It rang a few times before a female picked up on the other side. "Hello?"  
"Oh, hi, Mrs. Marseau. May I speak to Natasha, please?"

"Claire? Is that you? Natasha went out with Michael."

"Oh."

"About an hour ago."

"Oh… okay, well, thank you."

Claire hung up the phone and sat down at her desk. Amy and Clarissa were always up for a good, long phone session and Theresa and Jamie were probably dying for the opportunity to dish out dating advice. She dug out her school directory and flipped through the pages before she found what she was looking for. Her hand hovered over the phone for a minute before she picked it up and dialed the number.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! 


	28. Well This Is Awkward

A/N: Some extra profanity in this chapter, all of it in the last section, which is Bender's.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Well…This Is Awkward

* * *

Allison picked up the last of her "Rorschach drawings" and held it out in front of her. She gazed for a long time at the smeared ink and paper rumpled from the rain, trying to decide what she saw in this one. A cat… brushing its teeth. She smiled and wrote her conclusion on the back of the page triumphantly. _Wait until Mr. Hashimoto sees these. _

When she finished writing, Allison took a tiny piece of gum out of her mouth and stuck it onto the back of page. She pressed the paper onto the wall next to the other 28 ink blots and leaned back to admire the view. Not bad.

Suddenly, someone knocked quietly on her door. She froze for a moment before jumping up and flinging it open. Her father looked startled, but recovered quickly. "There's someone on the phone."

Allison stared at him for a moment, unsure of why he'd walked all the way upstairs to tell her that. "So?"

He paused uncertainly. "So, she wants to talk to you."

Allison rumpled her brow. "It's for me?"

He nodded. "I picked up the extension in the kitchen, but you can-"

Allison brushed past him and raced downstairs, heart hammering wildly. When she reached the kitchen, she stared at the phone for a good twenty seconds before lifting it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Allison?"

Allison didn't say anything, since she felt that the answer should be obvious.

"It's Claire." Allison still didn't say anything, so Claire cleared her throat. "Is this a bad time?"

"No."

"Oh… okay." There was silence for a few seconds, then: "So, um, what are you doing tonight?"

"Heavy metal vomit party."

"Really?" Allison didn't answer, just bit her nails nervously. Claire chuckled into the phone. "Oh… right."

"Why are you calling me?"

Claire paused. "Oh, I was just, you know… I was just sitting around the house and I thought I'd… thought I'd give you a ring."

"Why?"

Claire sighed. "Never mind. I guess this was a bad idea."

Allison heard the disappointment in her voice, the desperation. "Why did you _really_ call?"

Again, silence. "I just wanted to talk to someone."

"About what?"

Groan, embarrassed sigh. "John."

Allison wrinkled her nose. "Why?"

"We had detention today."

"Both of you?"

"Yes." Allison didn't say anything, so Claire must have taken that as a good sign. "It was horrible."

"Why?"

"He just… he said all these things and… well, I said things, too, but…" Claire paused. "Allison?"

"Uh huh?"

"Can I come over?"

* * *

"Brian…"

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Studying."

Leah sat down next to her brother and squinted at the textbook in front of him. "What does that say?" She reached out her hand, which was covered with smudges of chocolate from dessert their mother would never have to know about, and pointed her finger at the page.

Brian pulled the book away from her. "It says that little kids with chocolate on their fingers shouldn't touch other people's stuff."

Leah grinned. "It doesn't say that."

"How would you know? You can hardly even read."

"I know all my letters."

"So? You can't read _Latin_."

"I can write my name. Wanna see?"

"No."

Leah pouted her lips. "You're being mean."

"_I'm_ being mean? Who let you eat ice cream tonight, huh?"

She smiled again. "Is Mommy going to be mad at us?"

He sighed. "If she finds out, she will be."

"I won't tell."

"Good, because if you do I'll never give you ice cream ever again."

Her eyes widened. "No, I'll be good, I promise."

Brian rolled his eyes and went back to his work. A few minutes passed by silently and he read through a couple of pages. He glanced at his watch. 9:47 and 35 seconds. When he looked up, he saw Leah sitting with her elbows on the table and her chin resting on her hands, watching at him. "Why are you staring at me?"

"Why does Mommy make you do homework all the time?"

"Because she wants me to get good grades."

"Why?"

"Because she wants me to go to a good college."

"Why?"

"So I can get a good job."

"Why?"

Brian sighed. "Stop doing that."

"Why?"

Before he Brian could answer, the phone rang and he jumped up to get it before Leah could. He nearly dropped the phone on the floor, but managed to catch it in time; he'd have to get used to doing things with his left hand. "Hello?"

"Brian?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"It's Andy Clark."

Brian's eyes grew wide. "Oh, hey, man. Um, how…how're you doin'?"

"Uh, fine." He paused. "What are you up to?"

"Homework." He glanced into the kitchen, where Leah was spilling chocolate syrup on the floor. "And, uh, watching my sister."

Andy laughed. "I used to, you know…I used to have to do that, too." Brian paused uncertainly. Andy's voice sounded funny, as though he were having trouble speaking… and concentrating. In the background, he could hear people talking loudly.

"Uh, where are you?"

"Uh… it's just this party."

"Oh." Brian suddenly felt uncomfortable. "Uh, did you have something you needed to ask me?"

Someone laughed loudly in the background. "Um, yeah…" Another pause and more laughter. "I had a favor to ask you."

Brian clenched his jaw, disappointed. "Oh, okay. Um, what do you need?" The other end of the line was silent for a moment. If it weren't for the music in the background, Brian would have thought Andy had hung up. "Uh, are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"So, what did you want me to do?"

Andy paused again and Brian could hear him moving the phone around. "Yeah, I was just wondering if, uh, if I could come over."

* * *

Bender was more than a little wet by the time he arrived back at his house after detention. His trench coat was so waterlogged that he removed it halfway home and carried it over his shoulder like he would a dead body. Not that he'd ever carried a dead body before, despite what other people were likely to believe.

The warm water was gone, so he was forced to take a cold shower. Afterwards, he stood in front of the mirror and traced the bruises around his eyes. Fucking pricks. Fucking sports. Fucking _preppies_. They were all bastards, every one of them, even Andy. Hell, _especially _Andy. And Claire, who had the nerve to tell him not to defend himself, even after he told her about what those wrestling jerks did to him. Wasn't hard to see which side she was on.

Bender spent a while bumming around his room, listening to music and even taking a little nap. At about 9:00, he climbed through the window and took off down the street to his friend Cal's house. He could hear the music from nearly half a block away. A few people were smoking out on the front porch, but most were inside, laughing, drinking, having fun.

Bender ignored everyone that called out to him and walked through the house and into the backyard, where Roger was sitting on some patio furniture, alone, with an empty beer bottle on the table in front of him and a full one in his hand. Bender took a seat on the other side of the plastic table and propped his feet up on an extra chair. The two of them watched each other silently for a moment before Bender broke the ice.

"Surprised to see you here." Roger lifted his eyebrows and Bender gave him an ironic smile. "Didn't realize altar boys were into the party scene."

Roger shrugged and looked off into the distance. "Some of us are."

Bender scoffed and removed the pack of cigarettes Roger had given him the night before. When Roger glanced over at him, he narrowed his eyes. "What? I'm not allowed to have these either?"

"Shut up, John," Roger said tiredly.

Bender felt the anger rising up inside of him. "Don't tell me to shut up, Roger. Why don't _you_ shut the fuck up and stop trying to run my damn life?"

"Because I can see you're doing such a fantastic job with it already."

Bender laughed bitterly, though the jab hurt worse than he could have imagined it would. "Yeah, well, I've always been good at screwing shit up."

"Whine about it then. Maybe that'll make it all go away. Whine about your life a little bit more and maybe tomorrow you'll wake up in a fucking castle with a fucking crown and a fucking carriage and a real life _fucking_ princess!" Roger's eyes were blazing by then and Bender didn't think he'd ever seen him so angry in the entire time he'd known him.

"I don't need this shit, Roger. Not from you, I don't!"

"Well, you need to hear it from someone and right now it looks like I'm the only one here."

"I don't need to hear anything. I was doing just fine before you showed up and dragged me away like some fucking criminal."

Roger shook his head sadly, angrily. "You know, John, you are going to wake up someday and realize that you are _not _invincible. You keep pulling shit like you did last night and you'll find that out _real_ fast."

"Fucking prick."

"You're just walkin' around with your head up your ass. You've got no idea what the hell you're doing. Makes me wonder if you ever have."

"Why the hell do you hang out with me then? If I'm such a fucking idiot, then why do you even bother? Because I don't-"

"Need my pity," Roger finished for him. "Yeah, I got that part. But you're too pig-headed to see the difference between pity and friendship."

"I didn't realize that hitting someone in the face was considered friendship."

"Sometimes it is."

Bender scoffed. "In that case, I don't want friends."

"Well, good, 'cause if you keep acting the way you've been acting, you won't have any left."

"Speak for yourself."

"Who do you think I'm speaking for?"

"You aren't my only friend, you know. Jerry is-"

"Jerry is a fucking clown! A drug addict, a lowlife, the _laziest_ son of a bitch _I've _ever seen!" Roger shook his head. "You think he's your friend because he was gonna give you a little 'birthday present' last night? As if you weren't going to have to pay for it? Get real. Nothin's free, especially not that."

"How do you do it, Rog? How do you maintain such unwavering faith in your fellow human beings?"

"I've never had faith in Jerry."

"No kidding."

Roger took a sip of his beer. "His brother. Now, I had faith in Will. It's a shame he wastes all his extra money on a shit head like that. I wonder if knows where it's going when he sends it." He paused. "The sad thing is, I'll bet he _does_ know. I'll bet he hopes that Jerry's actually gonna change someday, turn his life around." He scoffed. "Or maybe he's just too nice _not_ to send it."

Bender didn't know what to say to that. He knew that Roger and Will had been close. They were only a couple of years apart in school, though Will finally graduated and Roger never did. But Roger looked up to him and had a hard time for a while when Will finally left town a few years back.

Roger picked up his beer again and took a long drink. "It's not like it matters anyway," he said numbly.

Bender let that settle in for a few minutes before returning to his main point. "I don't want you doing that again. Bursting in there like some goddamned superhero. From now on, I make my own decisions."

"Decisions are the easy part. The hard part is making the right ones."

"Who the fuck are you supposed to be, Aristotle?"

"No."

"So, stop coming up with shit like that, like you're some fucking philosopher or something."

"Getting mad at me isn't gonna solve anything."

"I disagree."

"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm stronger than you are."

Bender glared at him, embarrassed. "You didn't have to be such an asshole about it. You didn't have to treat me like a child in front of our friends!"

"Even though you were acting like one? Glad to see that you don't care what other people think, John. Glad to see you've got your priorities all sorted out."

"Who the fuck are you to talk, Rog? Every time I see you, you've got a goddamned beer bottle in your hand!"

Without missing a beat, Roger stood up and threw the beer bottle across the yard as hard as he could. Half of a second later, it smashed into the wooden fence, shattering and spraying beer all over the grass. Roger sat back down without looking at Bender and stared out at the rooftops in the distance. Neither of them spoke for a very long time.

* * *

A/N: Please review! I would really appreciate it. 


	29. Mistakes

A/N: Thanks for reading!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-nine: Mistakes

* * *

Bender and Roger were still rooted in stony silence when a group of drunken party-goers burst through the back door, letting a blast of music and laughter spill into the backyard. Bender took another drag on his cigarette and watched them stumble out onto the grass, laughing and singing the wrong lyrics to a really bad song (Bender actually thought that the wrong lyrics improved the original, so he didn't bother to correct them). He watched them goof off for a while, glad for the noise and glad for something to focus on instead of Roger, who was staring at the side of the house as if Michelangelo himself had completed the paint job.

After a few minutes, the door opened again and his friend Four-Eyes walked out into the backyard. Four-Eyes wasn't his real name, of course. He got the nickname when he was younger and he wore a pair of thick, coke bottle glasses to correct his horrible vision. One day, he got into a fight and his glasses were knocked onto the ground, where someone stepped on them, crushing the lenses. His parents, who could hardly afford the first pair, didn't have the money to replace them. However, by then, everyone was so used to calling him Four-Eyes that no one even remembered his real name and Four-Eyes refused to remind them. Instead, he popped out the damaged lenses, taped up the sides and continued to wear the rather nerdy looking glasses, though they served no corrective purposes anymore. No one ever made fun of him, knowing that if they did, they would earn a quick punch to the jugular. Rumor had it that one kid couldn't speak for an entire year after Four-Eyes finished with him. Whether it was physical or psychological damage, no one ever knew.

"What are you losers doing out here?"

Bender smirked as Four-Eyes kicked his feet off of the extra chair Bender was using as a footrest and took a seat. "There's another one right over there."

"Nah, I wanted this one. It's already warm." Four-Eyes reached over and grabbed Bender's pack of cigarettes and helped himself to a couple, sticking one in his shirt pocket for later. He lit the cigarette and took a drag, then glanced over at Roger, who still hadn't said a word since throwing the beer bottle against the fence. "What the hell are you moping about? Sesame Street get cancelled?"

Roger smiled and chuckled softly, but didn't say anything. Four-Eyes glanced between the two of them, but apparently decided not to mention the obvious tension hanging in the air. He shrugged and continued smoking his cigarette, then narrowed his eyes and turned to the raucous group near the door. "Shut the hell up! Those aren't even the right words, you morons!"

The group stared at Four-Eyes in silence for a moment until one guy smacked his friend on the shoulder. "Told you!"

Four-Eyes sighed and turned back to Bender. "I left my beer inside. You want me to get you one?"

Bender nodded. "Yeah, okay."

"Rog?"

Roger glanced up at Four-Eyes and shook his head. Four-Eyes nodded and got up from the table, disappearing into the house. Just before the door slammed shut, a small girl with shoulder-length dark brown hair caught it and slipped through. When she saw Bender and Roger sitting at the table, she grinned and walked over to them. "Hi!"

"Hey, Tracy." Bender let her kiss him on the cheek and watched as she did the same to Roger before taking Four-Eyes' empty seat.

"I haven't seen you two in a while," she said, glancing back and forth between them. "I think that's my fault, though."

Roger gave her a tender smile. "How's work, Trace?"

She shrugged and leaned back in the seat. "The usual. Hungry people complaining about the way their eggs turned out, yelling at me from across the room, demanding more coffee." She smiled. "Some people are nice, though."

Roger nodded. "Tips are good?"

"Most of the time."

Roger nodded again and Tracy glanced over at Bender. "Are you still going to school?"

"When I have to."

Tracy laughed. "You slacker. What am I going to do with you?"

Bender grinned, a wave of affection flowing over him. It was one of Tracy's oldest lines, her favorite thing to say to him when she caught him doing something he shouldn't. "_Oh, Johnny, what am I going to do with you?" _She grinned back at him, eyes dancing mischievously. "You're never gonna change, are you?"

"Of course not. Wouldn't want to disappoint you."

She giggled again and pulled her denim jacket tighter around her. Bender took another drag on his cigarette to warm himself up just as Four-Eyes returned with the beers. When he saw Tracy in his chair, he groaned loudly. "Tracy! You stole my chair, you little twerp!"

Tracy laughed as Four-Eyes took a seat in the last remaining chair opposite from her. "Be nice, Jacob."

Four-Eyes glared at her. "I'm sorry, but I think you're mistaking me for someone else."

"Oh, yeah? Are you the one that pushed me off the merry-go-round back in the second grade and then pretended you had nothing to do with it?"

Four-Eyes tried not to laugh. "No."

"Okay. Are you the one that followed me up the tree in front of my house and then told me I had to kiss you before you'd let me get down?"

Bender raised his hand. "Actually, that was me."

Tracy grinned. "Yeah, but I let _you _kiss me."

Bender burst out laughing as Four-Eyes' mouth dropped open in shock. "You asshole! All this time, I wondered why I was never good enough and, come to find out, it was you all along!"

"Don't swear, Jacob."

Four-Eyes turned back to Tracy, aghast. "Stop calling me that!"

"Jacob! How dare you speak to a woman like that!"

Four-Eyes turned to Bender and pointed his beer bottle at him menacingly. "I only let her get away with it because it's her. You call me that one more time and you'll be in a coma for the rest of your worthless life."

Bender laughed and popped open his beer. "I'm shakin' in my boots."

"You'd better be."

Tracy reached across the table and patted Four-Eyes' hand consolingly. "Poor baby. If you want, I'll let you kiss me later, just to make up for all those years of heartbreak."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Four-Eyes frowned and considered this for a moment. "Yeah, okay."

Bender burst out laughing. "Is that how you get women to go out with you? Guilt them into it?"

Four-Eyes narrowed his eyes at Bender. "Easy for you to say. She kissed _you_. I've been waiting for Tracy to realize she's in love with me since we were in diapers."

Tracy scoffed. "You pushed me off the merry-go-round!"

Four-Eyes grinned. "What did you expect, a sonnet?"

Tracy shook her head and glanced at her watch. "I've gotta get going. I got stuck with the breakfast shift tomorrow morning."

Bender threw his cigarette on the ground and stood up. "I'll walk you."

Four-Eyes glared at him through his lens-less frames. "There you go again, movin' in on my girl."

Tracy laughed and buttoned up her denim jacket. "I can't be your girl if you don't ever make a move, silly."

His eyes widened. "You're sayin' you'd go out with me if I only ask?"

"Maybe."

He smirked. "You still owe me that kiss."

Tracy rolled her eyes and walked over to his chair. Everyone froze, including Four-Eyes, as Tracy leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. She straightened up and looked over at Bender. "Ready?"

Four-Eyes let his mouth drop open. "Trace, that doesn't count! You said a real kiss!"

Tracy smirked. "I guess you'll just have to wait 'til later then."

His eyebrows shot up at the suggestion. "Hell, I'll wait forever when you say it like that."

Tracy ignored him, walked over to where Roger was sitting and leaned over to whisper something in his ear. As she spoke, he let out a sad smile and nodded when she stopped speaking. He gave her a peck on the cheek. "You take care, Trace," he said quietly.

Bender watched his friend silently until Roger looked up. They exchanged uncomfortable glances before Bender looked away and kicked the leg of Four-Eyes' chair. "Congratulations on the kiss, man. Try not to fuck it up, alright?"

Four-Eyes answered by elbowing him in the gut, unknowingly hitting one of his many bruises. Bender tried not to yell out in pain, but took a deep breath and straightened up, knocking Four-Eyes upside the head as he passed him. He extended his arm to Tracy and she hooked elbows with him, grinning. "What a gentleman."

Behind them, Four-Eyes scoffed. "That asshole? You want a real gentleman, Trace, I'm right here."

Tracy laughed, but Bender just gave him the finger over his shoulder as he led her through the back door.

* * *

Allison waited on the front porch until Claire pulled her father's BMW into her driveway. Claire looked pretty horrible, even by Allison's standards. Her hair was sticking up all over the place and she was wearing house shoes instead of heels. When she stepped into the light, Allison could see that she wasn't wearing any makeup and that her eyes were puffy.

"Don't say anything, alright?"

"About what?"

Claire sighed. "I just didn't feel like getting dressed up."

Allison shrugged. Claire nodded and they stood for a moment in uncomfortable silence. Finally, Allison stood up and opened the door. She led Claire up to her room and shut the door so that they wouldn't be interrupted. Not that they would be anyway.

"What are these?" Claire pointed at the smeared ink drawings hanging on the wall. "There are so many of them."

Allison sat on the bed as Claire looked around her room. There wasn't much to see. She had some tapes and sketch pads lying around, a few of her drawings tacked to the wall. Her bedspread was pale grey with no ruffles or lace or anything fancy to mess it up. Claire finally took a seat in a small blue armchair and smiled nervously at Allison. "I guess this is kind of weird, isn't it?"

Allison stared at her for a moment, causing Claire to shift uncomfortably in her chair. She seemed so different than she had a week ago in detention. Tired and desperate and… normal. Like an average teenage girl instead of some beauty queen. Allison tucked her legs under her butt and leaned forward a bit. "What happened between you and John?"

Claire sighed. "He hates me."

"Why?"

Claire looked back at the ink blots on the wall. "We got into a fight earlier this week. I said something about his friend and he got mad and left. I didn't mean to, though!" Claire ran a hand through her hair to smooth out the rebellious strands. "I didn't mean anything by it. He just… anyway, I got detention and he was there, of course. He ignored me the entire time and then he yelled at me when I tried to give him some of my lunch."

Allison took a deep breath. "Your lunch?"

"Yeah." Claire glanced up at her, worried. "Why, what's wrong?"

Allison shrugged. "Nothing. I'm not surprised that he was upset."

"You're not?" Claire thought about this for a moment. "Yeah, I guess I shouldn't have done that."

"What else happened?"

Claire paused. "There was this other guy, Jordan. A football player. He was talking to me the entire time and he invited me to this party and John made some stupid comment like he _always_ does." She rolled her eyes. "They ended up getting into a fight and Vernon walked in and got pissed off and put him back in the closet."

Allison felt her throat go dry. "What did he do to him?"

"I don't know!" Claire shook her head. "It must have been something bad because he wouldn't tell me."

Allison swallowed. Vernon was such an asshole. Whatever he said to John, it couldn't have been good. "What _did_ he tell you?"

"He said I was a bitch and that it would never work out between us."

"What wouldn't?"

"You know." Claire rolled her eyes. "Like us dating or something."

"Were you dating?"

Claire shrugged. "I don't know what we were doing. Nothing special, apparently. Just making out."

Allison smirked. "Really?"

Claire couldn't keep the smile off of her face. "Yeah. During lunch a couple of times." Her face flushed as she let out an embarrassed sigh. "I kissed him today but he just walked away from me. Like I had some kind of disease or something."

Allison watched her for a moment, not sure what to say to that. After a few minutes, Claire looked up at her, eyes damp. "Hey, Allison?"

"Uh huh?"

"Do you have any ice cream?"

* * *

Andy managed the ten minute drive to Brian's house without incident. There were a few close calls, most of them involving his Bronco and the tightly packed cars lining Sam's street. He held his breath as he passed a police car pulling out of Brian's neighborhood as he pulled in. _No, officer. I haven't had anything to drink. Well, except that beer… and some vodka… and then there were those jello shots. But you can't give me a ticket. Don't you know who I am? I'm Andy Clark, State _Fucking _Champion…_

Andy pulled into Brian's driveway, nearly hitting a trash barrel sitting by the curb. He slid out of the front seat and walked through the grass to the front door. Before he could knock, Brian threw open the front door. "Hi… uh, come in."

"Thanks." Andy stepped into the front hall and followed Brian into the kitchen. Suddenly, he stopped. "What happened to your arm?"

Brian glanced down at the cast and shrugged. "It's broken."

"What happened?"

Brian blushed deeply. "I, uh… I fell."

"From what?"

"Nothing." Brian glanced nervously at the fridge. "Do you, uh, do you want anything to drink? We have, you know, the standard stuff. Milk, orange juice, water…"

"Maybe just some water."

"Okay."

Andy walked further into the room, nearly stepping in a rather large puddle of some kind of syrup. "Uh, there's…"  
Brian rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. My sister, she likes chocolate. I'll have to clean it up before my mom gets home or she'll kill me for letting her have it."

Andy laughed a little bit harder than he meant to, causing Brian to shoot him a curious look. "Uh, is everything okay?"

"Uh… yeah."

"You seem… I don't know."

Andy accepted his water and took a few sips. "Oh, it's nothing. I was just at this party and-"

"You're drunk!" Brian's eyes grew very wide as he stared at Andy. He took a step forward and sniffed the air. "You smell like alcohol! No wonder you sounded so funny on the phone!"

Andy let out a chuckle. "Yeah, sorry about that. I-"

"Did you drive here?"

"Uh…" Andy shifted uncomfortably.

"You did, didn't you?" Brian narrowed his eyes. "You're not supposed to do that, you know. Drinking and driving. It's against the law."

"Well, I didn't really have a choice…"

"Do you know what drinking does to your reflexes and fine motor skills?"

Andy felt his already flushed face grow even warmer. "I was careful."

Brian scoffed. "Yeah, right." He shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you did that. That was so _stupid_."

Andy narrowed his eyes. "God, it isn't that big of a deal, Brian."

"Not that big of a deal! Someone could get killed!"

Andy felt his anger rising. "Yeah, well, I needed a little break, alright? I'm tired of playing by other people's rules!"

"Rules are there for our own protection."

"Whose protection?" Andy sneered. "I don't think it's me he's worried about."

"Who?"

Andy finished his water and put it on the counter. "Never mind." He grabbed his keys and fumbled around for the one to his car. "Sorry I bothered you. Thanks for the water."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know. Home." He paused. "Maybe."

Brian grabbed him from behind and dragged him over to the dining room table, then pushed him into a chair. If Andy weren't drunk, he could have slapped his hand away or done something other than blink stupidly at Brian's angry face.

Brian released his arm and stepped away from him. "I'm not letting you drive again until you're sober."

"You can't tell me what to do!"

"Well, I just did."

Andy looked around for his keys. "I'm leaving."

"Without these?" Brian held up Andy's keys and stuffed them into his underwear.

"Don't put those there!" Brian didn't answer, just walked over to the cabinets above the sink. "What are you doing?"

"Making you some coffee."

"I don't like coffee."

Brian opened a few drawers, then sighed. "I can't find the filters."

"Good."

Brian ignored him and opened the pantry door. He disappeared inside for a few seconds and emerged with a can of Coke. "My mom won't let us have these, but my Dad loves them. He thinks no one knows they're down here."

Andy didn't say an anything as Brian filled a cup with ice and plopped the Coke down in front of him. "Drink it."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Fine." And he did.


	30. Revelations

A/N: Just a quick tip. When you visit the BC page, don't forget to change the ratings filter. The default setting automatically filters out anything rated above T. However, there are some really good stories that have higher ratings. I forgot to change it for a long time and when I finally did I discovered some really good stuff. So, when you finish reading this chapter, go back and make sure you haven't missed anything.

* * *

Chapter Thirty: Revelations

* * *

Claire took another bite of double chocolate ice cream and sighed. "This is so good."

Allison licked the rim of her pint of strawberry ice cream and nodded. "My dad loves ice cream. He used to eat it for breakfast sometimes."

Claire smiled at that. "Where are your parents? Are they out somewhere?"

"No, they're here."

"Oh." Claire glanced over at the door. "I haven't heard them the entire time. They're very quiet."

Allison shrugged and took another bite of ice cream. Claire watched her for a moment before returning to her own carton. It was strange being in Allison's house. A week ago, it was the last place she would have expected to be, especially on purpose. But here she was, sitting in her room eating ice cream and telling her all about what it felt like to kiss John Bender. Funny how things change. Even funnier how comfortable she was with those changes.

"So, have you ever won any awards for your work?"

Allison looked at Claire as though she'd grown an extra head. "No."

"Oh. I just thought that…" She motioned towards a set of river scenes on one of the walls. "They're really good, is all I meant."

Allison relaxed a little bit. "I don't show people my pictures most of the time."

"But what about your art teacher? I'm sure he wants to enter them in contests."

"I don't take Art."

Claire's mouth dropped open. "You don't?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Allison shrugged as though the idea had never occurred to her. "They make you draw stupid stuff, like apples and tape dispensers. Who cares about that?"

Claire shook her head in disbelief. "But you're so good. You haven't taken any lessons?"

Allison got very still. "Not really."

Claire looked back at the pictures, marveling at the perfect details. They were landscapes and scenery mostly. Rivers and oceans and mountains and villages and lonely houses on hilltops. "They're really amazing, Allison."

Allison allowed herself a tiny smile and went back to her ice cream. Claire glanced at the closet door, also covered with ink drawings. "Do you mind if I take a peek?"

Allison glanced up curiously, then shook her head slowly. Claire stood and opened the door. The closet wasn't very full, nor was it very colorful. She picked up a black skirt and held it out in front of her. "Do you have anything that isn't black or grey?"

Allison frowned. "Yes."

"Where?" Claire continued to paw through the white shirts and grey pants and black skirts. "I don't see anything."

"There's a green skirt in the back."

"In the back?" Claire laughed and pushed a few more skirts out of the way. "If it's in the back, then you must not wear it very often." Her hand alighted on the skirt in question and she took it off the rack. "Is this the one?"

Allison nodded triumphantly. "Told you."

"This doesn't count."

Allison's mouth dropped open in frustration. "Why not? It's green."

"Olive green."

"So?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Olive green is hardly a color. If anything, it's a neutral." She replaced it on the back of the rack and closed the door. She sat back on the armchair and picked up her ice cream again. "You would look good in colors, you know."

Allison frowned. "I don't like colors."

"But you're an artist."

Allison motioned around her room. "Do you see any color here?"

Claire had to admit that she did not. All of the drawings were done in ink or pencil and none of them were in color. "Fine, but you would still look great."

Allison shrugged and Claire looked closely at her face. "You're not wearing all that black shit anymore."

Allison smiled despite herself. "Yeah, I guess I'm not."

Claire smirked. "I guess I was right, huh?"

Allison narrowed her eyes. "I didn't say that."

Claire laughed. "You look good, you know. Without all that dark stuff around your eyes."

"Thanks."

"You really should think about colors, though. You would look great in blue… or purple." She paused. "I could take you shopping, you know. If you didn't want to go alone."

Allison glanced up at her, surprised. "Really?"

"Sure."

Allison nodded slowly. "Yeah, maybe."

Claire finished off the last of her ice cream and licked the spoon clean. "So, have you seen any of the others?"

Allison nodded. "I eat lunch with Brian."

"Really?" Claire felt a little bit guilty that the only interaction she'd had with him had been when he tutored her. She hadn't really tried to hang out with him as a person at all. She wondered if they even had enough in common to be real friends. Allison and Brian, that made sense. But Claire and Brian? They were so different.

"You never told me about how you got detention."

Claire blushed and smiled. "Vernon caught me trying to sneak back into the building after lunch."

Allison giggled. "Were you with John?"

"Yeah."

Allison grinned like a little girl. "That's funny."

"Yeah, well, it was funnier at the time." Claire paused and glanced over at Allison uncertainly. "Have… have you seen Andy this week?"

Allison blushed and tried not to smile. "Yes."

Claire felt her stomach tighten apprehensively. _You have to tell her. _"When did you see him?"

"We went out a couple of times. We had dinner last night."

Claire nodded. "Did he… did he say anything about John?"

"John?" Allison furrowed her brow in confusion. "No."

"Oh." Claire took a deep breath. "They got in a fight on Thursday."

Allison's eyes widened. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I don't think anyone was hurt but…" Claire swallowed deeply and looked Allison in the eye. "Andy sent some of his friends to beat up John after school."

For a moment, Allison didn't do or say anything. Claire even wondered if she had even heard her correctly and almost repeated herself. Before she could open her mouth, Allison spoke. "He wouldn't do that."

"He did."

"No. He wouldn't."

Claire paused. "John told me today after detention. He looked pretty bad."

"That doesn't mean that Andy told them to."

Claire nodded in agreement. "Yeah, but I talked to Andy on Friday. He was pretty mad at John. He said that he didn't care what happened to him… that he hoped he was dead." Claire watched Allison closely, searching for clues as to how she was feeling. "Are you okay?"

Allison stood up from her seat on the bed. "Do you want more ice cream?"

Claire glanced at her empty carton. "Uh, no. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Sure." Allison smiled tensely. She took Claire's spoon and garbage and opened the door. "I want some milk. I'll bring you some, too."

"Okay," Claire said hesitantly as Allison shut the door behind her. When she was alone in the room, she sighed and leaned her head back against the back of the chair. Allison wasn't okay and she knew that. Just as she learned to fake a smile when it came to John, Allison instinctively knew to do the same with Andy.

While she waited for Allison to come back with their milk, Claire settled back into the armchair and stared at the drawings on the wall.

* * *

Brian cleaned up Leah's mess from the floor as Andy finished the ham and cheese sandwich he'd made for him. He wrinkled his nose at the chocolate stained rag before throwing it into the garbage and covering it with a milk jug.

"Where are your parents?"

Brian closed the pantry door and took a seat at the dining room table next to Andy. "My mom is staying at my aunt's house cause she's sick with the flu or maybe an upper respiratory infection or...I don't know. I can't remember which. And my dad had some team building workshop this weekend."

"What does he do?"

"He teaches biology at the middle school."

Andy furrowed his brow. "Mr. Johnson… does he wear glasses?"

"Uh, yeah. He's myopic. That's near-sighted, you know, like-"

"I had him!" Andy smiled at the memory. "Eighth grade biology. That's so funny that he's your dad."

"Well, actually the odds are very good. There are only three biology teachers at Shermer Middle School, meaning that anyone who went there had a 33 percent chance of getting him as a teacher. But there are other factors, too, you know, like not every teacher teaches the same number of classes. But then if you're trying to figure out the probability that you would end up at the house of your eighth grade biology teacher eating ham and cheese sandwiches, the process is actually a lot more complex because-"

"He was really nice, your dad. I liked him."

Brian smiled fondly. "Yeah."

Andy swallowed the last bite of his sandwich. "Where's your room?"

"It's, uh, it's right down the hall."

"Let's see it." Andy stood up and started walking down the hall and Brian hurried after him. Andy grabbed the knob to the first door he came to and walked in, glancing around. Brian followed him in and shut the door so they wouldn't wake up his sister.

"First Place, Shermer High School Science Fair." Andy tapped the small gold plague hanging on the wall over the desk. "So, you really dig this stuff, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

Andy took a seat at Brian's desk and started playing with a compass, spinning the part with the pencil around and around until Brian grabbed it from him. "That's not a toy."

"What is it for?"

"Making circles."

Andy furrowed his brow. "Oh." He leaned back in the seat and stared at the wall above Brian's bed. Brian sat down on the bed and tried to stick a finger inside of his cast to itch the skin. "How'd you break your arm?"

"I told you."

"You said you fell. What did you fall off of?"

Brian clenched his jaw. "Nothing. It was nothing."

"You fell off of nothing?"

Brian sighed. "You promise not to laugh?"

"Yeah."

He hesitated. "A slide."

"A slide? You fell off of a slide?"

Brian glared at him. "It wasn't my fault! My shoes were dragging and I got stuck and I pushed forward and then I fell and… it wasn't my fault!"

Andy laughed. "Uh… I think you need to come up with a better story than that."

Brian eyed him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

Andy rolled his eyes. "You can't tell everyone you fell off a slide. Now, think. How else could you have broken it?"

Brian's eyes widened. "Andy, that's lying! I can't do that!"

"A kitten! You were rescuing a kitten from a tree and you fell out."

"I can't say that!"

"The kitten was okay, though. You saved the kitten."

"What kitten? There was no kitten!"

Andy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but they won't know that."

"Who won't?"

"Whoever you tell. You know, like girls. Girls love kittens. They'll probably think you're really brave and sensitive and stuff."

Brian gave him a long look. "You think so?"

Andy grinned and hit him on the shoulder. "Trust me. You tell them that story and you'll have more dates than even _you_ can count."

"Dates?" Brian's went wide again. "Girls will date me because I pretended like I saved a kitten?"

"Sure."

Brian shifted uncomfortably. "It just feels wrong."

"Trust me, it'll feel a lot worse when you get laughed at for falling off of a slide."

Brian nodded. "Yeah, that's true." He paused. "Wait, how would you know? No one ever makes fun of you."

Andy clenched his jaw. "Yeah, well, I've been on the other end of it."

Brian considered for a moment what an odd pair of friends they were, the geek and the bully. If you could call them friends. _We are friends. He said we were. _Brian looked back at Andy, who was deep in thought, staring at his wall again. "So, uh… did you have a wrestling meet today?"

Andy's face darkened. "Yeah."

"Did you…"

"I won, yeah."

"Oh." Brian paused. "You don't seem very happy about it."

Andy shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Just means I'll have to do it all over again next week."

Brian nodded. "What did your dad say? I'll bet he was happy, you know, that you won and all."

Andy's eyes flickered with anger. "Probably. I don't know. He hardly said a word to me either way."

Brian swallowed. "Oh."

Andy ran his hand through his hair. "I just wish he could've said something, you know? A pat on the back, congratulations, something… anything." He rolled his hand into a fist and started drumming a rhythm on his knee.

"Is that why you got drunk?" Andy glanced over at him, but Brian hurried on before he could answer. "I mean, I'm sure you, you know, I'm sure that you've done this before and all, but…"

Andy clenched his jaw. "I just wanted to do something on my own, something he would hate."

Brian shook his head. "You can't do that every time."

"Do what?"

Brian paused nervously, expecting Andy to lash out at him for sticking his nose into his business. "Well, drink. I mean, I know you're angry and all, but…"

"But?"

"But maybe it isn't the best way to deal with your anger."

Andy was quiet for a moment. "Maybe." He sighed. "That still doesn't help me, though. It's like no matter what I do, it still isn't good enough."

Brian nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"Your grades?"

Brian nodded again. "Yeah, my Dad, you know, he's proud of me, but my Mom… it's like she just expects it, you know? Like it's just supposed to be this way."

Andy nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"It's like I can't do anything except study." Brian felt the anger rising up in his chest. "You know, my friends, they can do stuff. David can play soccer and video games and I can't even go camping with my dad because it would interfere with finals." Brian took a shallow breath and punched the bed with his good hand. "God, I hate her!"

Andy didn't say anything. Brian took a few deep breaths before looking up at him. "I… I didn't mean that, you know? I don't… I don't really hate her."

"Do you still think about it?"

"About what?"

Andy looked at him as though the answer should be obvious. "You know… the flare gun."

Brian's heart started pounding harder in his chest. "You mean…"

"Yeah."

Brian shrugged as though the question didn't bother him. "Uh, not really, you know."

"Not really or never?"

Brian paused. "Not _usually_."

"You still want to do it?"

"No…"

Andy narrowed his eyes. "I thought you changed you mind about that on Saturday."

"I did."

"So?"

"So, you think someone decides to do something like that and then suddenly it's all okay just because they talk about it with a bunch of total strangers?" Brian felt himself getting angry, though whether it was at Andy or his mother or himself he didn't know. "When you went home that afternoon, did things magically get better between you and your dad?"

Andy shook his head solemnly. "What did you tell your parents?"

"About what?"

"About why you had the gun."

Brian sighed. "I told them I just wanted to show it to my friends. That I thought they would think it was cool."

Andy thought about this for a moment, then smiled ironically. "I guess we're both kind of trapped, aren't we?"

Brian nodded slowly. "Trapped."

"Like animals at the zoo." Andy paused. "I always thought they were so sad, you know? I just wanted to let them out so they wouldn't suffocate in that tiny space."

"They would have been worse off if you had. They probably would have died."

Andy looked up, startled. "Really?"

"Yeah. No food or water. Strange environment." He paused. "They get used to it… living in cages, I mean."

Andy looked angry at the revelation. "I wonder what's worse."

Brian thought about this for a moment, surprised that he didn't have an answer. After a few minutes of silence, he asked the question he'd had on his mind since he'd picked up the phone hours before. "Why did you call me?"

Andy snapped out of his reverie. "What d'you mean?

"Well, of all the people…"

Andy shrugged. "Everyone else was drunk."

Brian nodded, disappointed somehow.

"And I knew you would know what to do."

Brian glanced back, surprised. "You did?"

"Yeah."

Brian didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. After a minute, Andy leaned forward in his chair. "Uh, Brian?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I have another ham and cheese sandwich?"

* * *

A/N: Please review! 


	31. Late Nights and Early Mornings

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I appreciate your input.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-one: Late Nights and Early Mornings

* * *

Andy drove home very slowly, Brian's angry words echoing in his head. _Someone could get killed!_ Andy swallowed deeply and cut off the lights before turning into his driveway. He was not only getting home past curfew, but he was also afraid that his parents would take one look at him and just _know _that he'd been drinking. Just to be safe, Andy popped a breath mint into his mouth. _Good call, John._

He was halfway across the front lawn when the light on the front porch flipped on. Andy froze where he was, stupidly thinking that if he didn't move they wouldn't know he was there. After a few seconds, the front door creaked open slowly and his little sister stepped outside.

"Nicole!" Relief flooded his body. "God, I thought you were Mom and Dad!"

Nicole grinned. "Yeah, I'll bet you did." She checked her watch. "What time is your curfew?"

Andy rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"It's midnight, isn't it?"

"Shut up."

"That's funny because my watch says 12:30."

Andy sighed. "How much do you want?"

Nicole smiled and took a seat on the front porch, her long blonde hair spilling over her knees. "I don't know. How much do you have?"

Andy glared at her. "Fifty cents."

"Liar."

He sighed and took a seat on the porch a few feet away from her. "Are they asleep?"

"They went to bed hours ago. Dad was pissed off that Georgetown beat Kentucky."

"I don't know why he was so surprised."

Nicole shrugged and glanced over at her brother. "How much did you drink?"

Andy shot her a surprised glance. "You know Dad doesn't let me drink."

"Duh." She rolled her eyes. "Jeez, Mom and Dad may be that gullible, but I'm not." She paused. "They were fighting about you, you know."

"Who was?"

"Mom and Dad. I heard them after you left. Mom was mad at him."

Andy narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Because apparently he's being too hard on you and not expressing himself emotionally. Or something."

"She said that?"

"Yeah."

Andy considered this for a moment. "Well, what did he say?"

"That she was wrong, of course. He said that she was coddling you and that he had to be tough because it was the only way to bring out the best in you so that you'd win."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Asshole."

Nicole looked over at him. "He's just like Grandpa, you know."

"You didn't even know Grandpa."

"Yes, I did."

"He died when you were five."

Nicole narrowed her eyes at him. "I still remember."

"Remember what?"

Nicole looked out at the trees in the front lawn. "I remember that he didn't say much, but when he did, it was always about something I did wrong." Andy didn't correct her, so she went on. "That's what Mom said, too."

"When?"

"Tonight when they were arguing. She said that it isn't fair to let out his anger at Grandpa on you."

"And what did he say?"

She scoffed. "What do you think he said?" She lowered her voice in imitation of their father. "'I loved that man, Carol. He was tough when he needed to be and that's how I have to be with Andy. Fathers these days, they're too easy on their kids.'"

Andy shook his head. "You'd think Grandpa was a saint the way Dad talks about him."

"Yeah, but he hated him."

Andy furrowed his brow. "No, he didn't."

Nicole rolled her eyes for possibly the thirtieth time that night. "God, Andy, you're so thick sometimes."

He sneered. "And you're a brat."

"Dad hated Grandpa. He just says he loved him 'cause he doesn't want to admit that he couldn't stand him."

"That isn't true. Why would he do that?"

"I don't know."

"See?"

"Do you love Dad?"

Andy froze. His sister looked very young for a moment, expectant and maybe even a little bit afraid of what he might say. She swallowed deeply and tucked her knees closer to her chest. "I know you don't."

"How would you know?"

"Because I pay attention."

Andy clenched his jaw. "It's not like you know how it feels, you know. To have him breathing down your neck like that everyday. You're lucky that you play soccer; it's the one sport he doesn't know anything about."

Nicole scoffed. "Luck has nothing to do with it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I picked soccer for a reason."

Andy's eyes widened in surprise. "You love soccer!"

She shrugged. "I loved softball, too. And basketball. But Dad would always come to the games and stand on the sidelines just to make sure I didn't screw up. I hated it."

Andy shook his head in disbelief. "I thought you just grew out of it."

"No, I just got tired of Dad ruining it for me. At least I can play soccer without him pointing out all of my mistakes, even if I don't like it as much as softball." She shrugged. "Besides, Cynthia and I can still play catch in her backyard whenever we want."

Andy sighed angrily. "God, he ruins everything."

"You shouldn't have picked wrestling. Dad was a wrestler. It was the worst thing you could have picked."

"I didn't pick. Dad did."

"That was your mistake then."

Andy glared at her. "This isn't my fault."

"I'm just saying that you shouldn't have let him choose. You should have kept swimming. I don't think Dad was ever a swimmer."

Andy closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to let the anger out. When he opened his eyes again, Nicole was watching him. "It's just one more year," she said.

Andy sighed. "Yeah." He stood up and looked towards the door. "I'm going to bed."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

He turned back to his sister, who was still sitting with her knees tucked against her chest. "Like what?"

She extended her hand and rubbed her fingers together. "Moola."

Andy sighed and dug into his pocket. "I thought this was one of those brother-sister moments, where we realize that we need to band together or whatever."

Nicole scoffed. "What, like some cheesy made-for-T.V. movie? Get real."

Andy glared at her and stuck a five dollar bill in her hand. "You're such a brat."

Nicole shrugged. "So? I'm five dollars richer now."

Andy walked inside and locked the screen door behind him. "Hey!" Nicole jumped up and pressed her face against the screen. "Andy!" she hissed. Andy smirked and turned off the porch light, leaving her in darkness. "You jerk! That's not funny!"

"I think that depends on which side of the door you're on."

"Let me back in!"

"Sorry, can't do that."

"Unlock it, you idiot!"

"It'll cost you."

On the other side of the door, Nicole sighed. "How much?"

"Guess."

She clenched her jaw. "Fine. Unlock the door."

Andy opened up the screen door and snatched the five dollar bill out of her hand before she could protest. She narrowed her eyes and he smiled. "It was a pleasure doing business with you."

* * *

Bender and Tracy walked slowly as they moved down Cal's street towards Tracy's house, which was about seven blocks away. As they came up on the first intersection, Tracy reached out and took hold of Bender's hand. He let her hold it, partially because his hands were cold and partially because he liked the way her tiny palm fit against his larger one.

After a few minutes, Tracy sighed. "When are we gonna run away together?"

Bender grinned. "What do you want to leave Shermer for, Trace? It's such a _beautiful_ crap hole."

She shook her head. "I'm so tired of my job."

"So quit."

Tracy laughed sadly and Bender felt bad for saying it. He knew she didn't have a choice when it came to work. She'd dropped out of school two years before so that she could help take care of her little brother, Grant, who was still in elementary school. Unlike Bender, who hated school, Tracy actually enjoyed it and Bender knew that she wished she could have finished. She would have graduated in less than two months.

"Just say the word and my bags are packed."

"You don't have any bags."

"Pockets then."

"I'm holding you to that." Tracy smiled. "Remember when we were seven and we decided to run away from home? You stuffed all those clothes in a pillowcase and showed up at my house in the rain?"

Bender let out a mirthless chuckle. What Tracy never knew about that day is that his dad had been drinking so heavily that for the first time in his entire life, he'd actually thought his dad might kill him. For Tracy, though, it was just a game. "Yeah, I remember that."

"And you told me that I couldn't bring my dolls because we could only bring the necessities, remember that? Only food and clothes."

"Yeah."

Tracy laughed again, but Bender didn't laugh with her. They walked for a couple of minutes in silence and eventually Bender's thoughts turned to Claire and his afternoon in detention. He looked over at Tracy, with her laughing eyes and tiny hands, and couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that washed over him. She was nothing like Claire. Claire, with her Daddy's BMW and her mansion on the hill. Claire, with her expensive haircuts and designer clothes and manicured nails. Why couldn't he think about Tracy the way he thought about Claire? Was it the money? Was she just not good enough? Bender felt the self-hatred boiling up inside of him and he wished for a moment that he could rip out his own brain and throw it in a rat-infested dumpster, where it obviously belonged.

He felt Tracy squeeze his hand. "What's wrong?"

Bender blinked and glanced over to see her watching him with a concerned look in her eyes. The loathing bubbled up again, threatening to spill over this time. He let go of her hand and reached into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes just so he wouldn't have to look at her. When he found that the pack was missing, he sighed.

"You left them on the table. Jacob took them when you weren't looking."

Bender scowled. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"Have you seen how big he is? He could snap me in half!"

Bender grinned. "Not you, he couldn't."

"Yeah, right."

"He lets you call him Jacob."

"So? That's his name."

Bender smiled knowingly. "You still owe him a kiss."

Tracy tried not to smile, but the corners of her mouth turned up anyway. "I guess I do."

"You don't seem to mind."

Tracy glared at him, grinning. "You're just jealous because you lost your chance years ago."

"Years ago? Has it been that long?"

Tracy smiled sweetly. "No. You've always had one. It's just been years since I realized you'd never take it."

There it was again, the guilt. He reached out and took her hand again, forcing the misery back down into his chest. They walked in companionable silence for a long time, bracing themselves against the cold.

"Trace?"

"Yeah?"

"Do rich guys ever come into your restaurant?"

Tracy furrowed her brow. "Sometimes. Businessmen mostly."

Bender nodded. "Do they… do they ever ask you out or anything?"

Tracy shot him a surprised look. "Why?"

"Just wondering."

She shrugged. "A couple times. I think it's the short skirts we have to wear."

Bender knew that it wasn't just that, but didn't say anything about it. "You ever go out with any of them?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Most of them were too old."

Bender thought about this for a moment. "What if they were younger, though? Would you say yes then?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. If they seemed nice."

"You would?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

Bender paused. "I don't know. Just… rich people. They're different, you know?"

"Not _so_ different."

Bender considered this as they walked the final blocks to her house and turned into her driveway. She pulled a ring of keys from her jacket pocket and turned back to give him a hug. Without warning, the day caught up with him in a single instant. His fight with Jordan, Vernon putting him in the closet, Claire kissing him, his argument with Roger. He closed his eyes and held onto her for a long time, not wanting her to go. She spoke softly into his ear. "It's going to be okay."

"When?"

"I don't know."

Finally, Bender released her. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, but she smiled. "You two shouldn't fight, you know."

Bender thought of Tracy whispering into Roger's ear. "What'd you say to him?"

"None of your beeswax." Bender smiled sadly and she nodded. "Take care of yourself, you hear?"

"Don't I always?"

"No. That's why I said it."

Bender swallowed deeply. "Good night."

"Good night."

Bender made sure that she was safely inside with the door locked before he turned and started back down her driveway. As he passed under the streetlights, he jammed his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath.

For five blocks, he thought of nothing but Claire.

* * *

A/N: I hope this gave you a little bit of insight into John's feelings for Claire. If this didn't satisfy you, then wait until his next section. I know I say that a lot, LOL, but I hate spilling all the facts all at once. I prefer to do it a little bit at a time because I figure relationships and people are way to complicated to be summed up in a single paragraph or chapter. So, there's that. 


	32. The Last Thing I Needed

A/N: I totally stole the title for this chapter from a Willie Nelson song. Just so you don't get mad and sue me. Because, I repeat: I don't own anything. Song titles, lines from the movie, characters, the movie itself… nothing! I admit it, alright?

* * *

Chapter Thirty-two: The Last Thing I Needed First Thing In The Morning

* * *

Allison stared up at her ceiling, wide awake. On the other side of the room, Claire was snoring softly as she slept, still curled up in her beat up old armchair. Allison had taken a long time getting their milk and by the time she returned to the room, Claire had fallen asleep. She looked so peaceful that Allison decided not to wake her. Besides, she was already wearing her pajamas.

The snoring, however, wasn't the reason Allison couldn't sleep. It had more to do with the fact that someone she thought she could trust had turned out to be someone she never really knew at all.

_You know, Bender... you don't even count._

She imagined Andy and John fighting in the hallway, rolling around on the tile floor. Maybe Andy "won" like he had in detention.

_I mean, if you disappeared forever it wouldn't make any difference._

Or maybe it was Bender this time. Maybe Andy was embarrassed that he lost to a "nothing" like John and needed a little revenge to soothe his wounded ego.

_You may as well not even exist at this school. _

Maybe that's why he hit up his wrestling buddies for a favor. 'See that guy over there in the combat boots and the denim jacket? He's a problem…'

_Well...I'll just run right out and join the wrestling team. _

And maybe that's why Bender was beaten up… again. Because of some stupid argument over God knows what and a wounded pride that needed mending. There, that should do the trick.

_No, they wouldn't take you. _

It was a long time before Allison was finally able to get to sleep.

…………

Allison woke up with the sun. Her internal clock was very accurate and didn't care that she'd been up half the night mooning over some dumb jock. She sat up in bed and looked over at Claire, who was still asleep in her armchair. She wasn't snoring anymore, but she definitely wouldn't be getting up any time soon from the looks of it.

Allison grabbed her sketch pad and a couple of pens and headed downstairs. The kitchen was empty, so she grabbed a can of Coke and went outside to the back porch and took a seat in one of the wrought iron lawn chairs. Without hesitating, she dived right into a new picture, this one of a clearing in the woods at night. She figured it was the furthest she could get from a Shermer sunrise.

By the time her Coke was half gone, the scene was nearly finished. She took her time shading in the branches and the clouds covering the moon. She was so absorbed in her drawing that she didn't hear the door open or the footsteps behind her.

"I didn't realize that you were drawing again."

Allison whirled around. Her father was standing a few feet away with a cup of coffee in his hands, staring at the picture in front of her. He stepped a little closer to get a better look. She could smell his coffee. French Vanilla, just like his favorite ice cream.

"It's very good." He stepped back again, not taking his eyes off of the drawing. She didn't respond to his compliment, nor did she bother to mention the fact that she'd never _stopped_ drawing.

"You should show your mother." Allison glanced up at him, surprised. He smiled nervously and nodded at her sketch pad. "I think she'd like to know that you're continuing her legacy."

Allison clenched her jaw. Her mother's legacy, as if that's all she was worth to their family. She flipped the page over the top and smoothed her hand over a blank one. She glared at her father, who was still smiling absently at the blank sketch pad, lost in a memory of a better time, she supposed. Like he always was. _Let him stay there. Let him drown in his memories. It's not like he's ever going to come back from them anyway._

A few minutes later, she heard her father crack open the back door and slip back into the kitchen. When he was gone, she ripped the picture from the sketch pad, wadded it into a ball and threw it into the neighbor's back yard.

* * *

Claire woke up groggy and disoriented with stiff limbs and a sore neck. She found Allison in the kitchen eating cereal and thanked her for letting her spend the night. Allison must not have been a morning person because she hardly said a word, just shrugged and walked her outside to her car.

Back in her own neighborhood, Claire pulled into the garage, then collected her things and went into the house. Her father was in the dining room eating eggs and toast while he read the business section. When she walked in, he smiled and put the paper down on the table. "Good morning, Princess. You look like you slept well."

Claire rolled her eyes, remembering waking up in Allison's room in a puddle of drool. She took a seat. "Yeah, I did."

He nodded and took a sip of coffee. "Did you spend the night at a friend's house?"

Claire hesitated at the word friend. "Yes."

"Did you two have fun?"

Did they? If rehashing the details of broken relationships and telling someone that the person they went out with the night before was a sadistic jerk was fun, then sure, they'd had fun. "Yeah, we did."

"Good, good." He smiled indulgently, patted her on the hand and started eating his eggs again. Claire took a piece of toast from the basket in the center of the table and placed it on the plate in front of her. She buttered it and smoothed on a layer of strawberry jelly before taking her first bite.

"Ah, look what the cat dragged in." Claire jumped as her mother entered the dining room wearing a stylish green dress with pumps and a matching scarf. She placed a hand on the top of her husband's chair and glared at her daughter. "You didn't tell me you were leaving last night."

"Barbara, don't start."

"Shut up, Colin." She kept her eyes trained on Claire's face. "We woke up this morning to find the car missing and your room empty. What were we supposed to think?"

"I didn't think I was going to be gone all night." Claire put the piece of toast back on her plate and glared at her mother. "It was an accident."

"Oh, an accident!" Mrs. Standish threw her hands up in the air dramatically. "Well, in that case, all is forgiven. I should have realized it was just an _accident_ when I was considering calling the police this morning!"

"Now, Barbara, she didn't mean to. She said it was an accid-"

"I heard what she said, Colin!" Claire's mother turned to her husband, eyes blazing. "I am standing right next to her! I heard what she said and it isn't good enough!"

Mr. Standish clenched his jaw in anger. "It's my car and I don't mind that she borrowed it."

His wife nodded slowly and managed an angry smile. "_Your_ car? Is that how this is going to be? _Your car_." She paused. "Well, last time I checked, Claire is _our_ daughter and I don't want her out all night roaming the streets!"

Claire sighed. "I wasn't roaming-"

"Well, maybe _I_ don't mind, alright? Maybe _I_ say that it's okay for her to go out and take _my_ car."

"Oh, that's right." Claire's mother tapped herself on the forehead and rolled her eyes. "How could I possibly forget? You're the good parent."

"Oh, don't start, Barb-"

"Yes, you're the good father and I'm the wicked witch you married, isn't that right? You're the one who lets her get away with whatever the hell she wants while I get to be the party pooper, the one that ruins all of her fun. I'm sick of it, Colin! Sick of it!"

"You're being dramatic. Just because I don't-"

"Oh, I'm being dramatic? You're the one who-"

"Stop it!"

Mr. and Mrs. Standish stopped and turned to Claire, who was standing behind them, face red with anger. "Just stop yelling! For five minutes, could you just stop yelling and pretend that you actually care more about what happens to me than about winning some stupid fight with each other?"

There was a second of silence before both of her parents opened their mouths to speak. But Claire was already tired of the entire conversation and didn't want to hear any of their excuses. She turned away from them and ran from the dining room, up the winding staircase and to her bedroom. A few seconds, later, her parents' angry voices started trailing up the staircase, finding their way into her room. She slammed the door shut and ran her fingers through her hair. When she did, it finally dawned on her that she'd been walking around for the past 12 hours looking like the Bride of Frankenstein. _I need a shower._

The shower was relaxing and had a positive effect on her emotions. She took her time doing her hair and makeup and picked out her favorite shirt for the day. By the time she was finished getting ready, she felt a million times better. She was thinking about calling Natasha to see if she wanted to get a bite to eat when she remembered what she was supposed to do that day.

Damn.

* * *

Leah and Brian were in the kitchen eating cereal and drinking orange juice when the phone rang. Leah jumped out of her chair and dragged it over to the wall, where she used it to reach up and grab the phone. Brian, who was half-way out of his seat, glared at her. "Hello?"

Brian rolled his eyes and returned to his chair. Leah was holding the phone, which was about the size of her head, to her ear while she played with the cord. The person on the other line must have said something funny because she giggled. "Yes." She sat down on the chair and let her feet dangle several inches from the floor. "Why?"

Brian sighed. "Leah, who is it?"

"My name's Leah, what's yours?" She started swinging her legs back and forth, causing the chair to scoot forward a little. "I have a friend named that!" She shrieked with pleasure. "Yes, I _do_!"

Brian stood up and reached out for the phone. "Give it to me, Leah."

"No, I'm _talking_." She twisted away from him and huddled against the counter. "How old are you?" She paused, listening to the person's answer. "That's how old my brother is."

"Leah, give me the phone!"

"I'm almost seven."

"Leah!"

"Just wait a minute, silly pants." She laughed and returned to her conversation. "My birthday is in 2 months and eleven days."

Brian gave up and leaned against the counter. "This is just great."

"I'm going to have a birthday party. You can come if you want."

"They don't want to come to your stupid birthday party. It's for little kids."

"It's not stupid."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not!" Leah frowned and turned back to the phone. "If you come, you can have some of my cake." She paused, listening to their response. "Probably chocolate because that's my favorite."

Brian stared at her, incredulous. "Since when does my sister get to talk to my friends and I don't?"

"She said she's going to come to my party, Brian, so there."

"Who did?"

"I'm not telling."

"Give it, Leah."

"No, it's my friend, too."

"What! No, it's not!"

"Is, too."

"If you don't give me the phone, I'll never let you have ice cream ever again."

Leah's eyes grew moist very quickly. "No!"

"But if you do, I'll let you have ice cream every time Mom and Dad are out."

Her eyes went wide. "Promise?"

"Yes, now give it to me."

"Cross your heart and hope to die?"

"Yes."

"Stick a needle in your eye?"

"That's disgusting. Do you know what would happen if I actually did that?"

"You have to say it, Brian, or it doesn't count."

"Fine, stick a needle in my eye, okay? Give me the phone."

"Okay." She put the phone on the counter and Brian grabbed it. He shook his head and lifted the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Brian?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"It's Claire."

Brian's eyes widened. "Oh, um, hey, Claire. How are you?"

"Fine. So, that was your sister?"

Brian glanced over at Leah, who was adding far more sugar to her cereal than their mother would ever allow. "Yeah, it was. Sorry about that. She grabbed the phone before I could stop her."

"It's okay." She paused. "Listen, do you still want to get together and study? Because if you don't, it's okay-"

"No, no, it's fine. I really don't mind. When do you want to come over?"

Claire sighed. "Um, maybe in an hour? I haven't eaten breakfast yet."

"Yeah, that's fine. I'll see you then."

Claire said goodbye and hung up the phone. When Brian looked back at his sister, she was grinning from ear to ear as milk dribbled down her chin. "Was that your girlfriend?"

"No." Brian rolled his eyes, then thought that maybe he should have just let her believe that she was. At least then he wouldn't look like some loser who couldn't get a date unless he paid someone. Because he could get a date if he wanted. Andy said it himself and if there was anyone who knew about getting dates, it was probably Andy. Brian was not a dateless loser.

Brian sighed and went back to the table to prevent Leah from going into sugar shock. _Who am I kidding?_


	33. Physics Lesson

A/N: Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-three: Physics Lesson

* * *

A little more than an hour after he talked to her, Brian opened his front door and invited Claire into his house. "I'm sorry that I'm a little late. I was just- oh, my God! What happened to you?"

It took Brian a moment to realize that he was talking about her arm. He sighed and led her into the kitchen. "Oh, I, uh… I fell."

"From what?"

Brian took a nervous breath. "Well, there was, um… there was this kit-"

"He fell off the slide."

Brian glared at Leah, who had slipped into the kitchen unnoticed. "Leah, I told you not to bother us."

"But I wanted another popsicle."

Brian groaned. "Mom is going to kill me when she gets home and finds out what you've been eating all weekend."

Leah shrugged and opened the freezer. Standing on her tiptoes, she was barely tall enough to reach the box. She grabbed it, sending a package of hamburger meat and a bag of frozen vegetables tumbling to the floor. She ignored the "real food" and removed a popsicle from its box. She looked shyly at Claire and took out another popsicle. "You can have one if you want."

Claire smiled. "Okay."

Leah looked at the two popsicles in her hand and made a decision. "Purple is my favorite, but you can have it."

Claire accepted the purple popsicle. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She unwrapped the frozen treat and started licking it as Brian stuffed the meat and veggies back into the freezer. Leah looked back at Claire, who was unwrapping her popsicle very slowly. "Are you Brian's girlfriend?"

Brian nearly choked on his own tongue. "Leah!" He glanced over at Claire, who was biting back laughter. "I told you she wasn't."

Leah clucked her tongue and continued licking her popsicle. Brian smiled nervously at Claire, who was still biting her lip to keep from giggling. He sighed and picked up Leah's wrapper from the floor. "Come on, Leah. We have to study."

His sister licked a drop of melted popsicle from the top of her hand. "Can I stay here and draw?"

"No."

"I'll be real quiet."

"No." Brian ran a hand through his hair. "But if you're really good I'll let you draw on my cast later."

Leah's eyes grew wide. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Leah grinned and ran from the kitchen, melted popsicle juice dripping onto the floor. Brian rolled his eyes at Claire and offered her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, she's…" He pulled out one of the dining room chairs. "Um, have a seat."

Claire pulled out her physics notebooks as Brian grabbed some of his old notes that he'd gathered as study materials. Claire kept eating her popsicle, which was turning her lips more and more purple with every lick. "She's really young."

"Uh, yeah. She's six."

Claire nodded. "I'll bet that was weird for you. You know, being the only child for so long and then having a sister. That's what my brother said about me anyway."

Brian nodded. "Yeah, but I was excited, you know?" He smiled fondly. "My Dad didn't want me to feel left out, so he told me I could pick her name."

"He did?" Claire paused. "What made you pick Leah?"

Brian blushed. "Have you ever seen Star Wars?"

"Yes."

"Well, it came out the year she was born and my Dad and I, you know, we loved it. So, I told him that he should name it Luke if it was a boy and, uh, Leia if it was a girl."

"Leia?"

"Yeah, you know, like Princess Leia?" Brian felt his face grow even warmer. "My mom said we couldn't name her that, so my Dad compromised and they called her Leah."

"That's really sweet." Claire laughed. "I think if my brother got to do that, he would have gone with something like 'Stupid' or 'Dummy'."

Brian laughed and looked down at his notes. "Um, I guess we can get started. I have some old notes from when I took Mr. Waverly's class last year. You can take these and look over them if you want."

Claire accepted the stack of papers. "Thanks." She scanned the first page before shooting Brian an embarrassed smile. "I think you'll probably have to explain it to me."

"Oh, yeah, sure." He pointed at the first formula. "See, that one's for finding the velocity. The first thing you have to do is identify the variables. After that, it's really just a matter of plugging in the numbers and doing the math." Brian reached for a blank piece of paper and a pencil to give her an example, but stopped short when he realized that he couldn't write anything anyway. "Well, um… why don't you try it first?"

Claire glanced over at him. "Are you right-handed?"

Brian nodded. "Yeah, so I can't…"

Claire's eyes widened. "What are you going to do about classes?"

Brian felt a familiar sense of dread wash over him. "Um, I don't know yet. I guess I'll have to work something out with my teachers on Monday."

"What about your parents? What did they say?"

His stomach muscles tightened, fending off another wave of anxiety. "Uh, my Dad doesn't know yet but my mom…" He paused, remembering his phone conversation with her from the night before. "She's worried I won't be able to do all the work and that my grades will drop."

Claire smiled understandingly. "I'm sure it'll all work out. Your teachers will help you."

"Yeah." Brian took a deep breath, pushed his fear deep down into his stomach and looked back at the notes in Claire's hand. "So, the velocity is represented by the variable 'v' and the…"

* * *

After about an hour of studying, Claire was getting a little burned out on physics. She glanced over at Brian, who was putting numbers into his calculator. "Um, can we take a little break?"

He looked up, still distracted by the equation in front of him. "Oh, yeah. Sure. Um, do you want some more water?"

"Sure, thanks." Claire stood up to stretch her legs and walked over to a wall where a bunch of family photos were hanging. "Are these your parents?"

Brian glanced up from the sink. "Um, yeah. That's when they got married… obviously."

Claire smiled at the photo of a young couple decked out in a tuxedo and bridal gown. The man was grinning widely while the woman looked as though she were about to burst out laughing, most likely at something her husband had just said. "You look a lot like your dad."

Brian walked up next to Claire and handed her the glass of water. "People say that a lot." He pointed to a picture of himself as a little boy holding a tiny bundle of blankets. "That's Leah. We'd just brought her home from the hospital."

Claire's expression softened a bit as she looked over all of the photos. Weddings, birthday parties, first days of school. If she wanted to, she could put them all in a line and watch Brian grow up, picture by picture, year by year. Claire felt that there was something foreign and intimate about looking at someone else's pictures, like it's easy to forget sometimes that people have families and friends and homes and histories that most people never see. It's hard to stereotype someone when you've seen a picture of them with birthday cake smeared all over their face.

"I wish I could take pictures. You know, like a real photographer," said Claire. "Travel the world, see all the beautiful buildings and beaches. It always seemed like such a… I don't know, _romantic_ thing to do."

Brian's face lit up. "Yeah, I know. Karen was telling me about-" He paused and glanced over at Claire nervously. "I mean, you know, I have a friend that's a photographer and, um, they've been, you know, around the world. Do you want some more water?"

Claire glanced at the glass, which was still full. "Um, no. I'm fine. Did you just say your friend's name was Karen?"

Brian blushed. "Um, yeah. Are you sure that you don't-"

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"No," he said, blushing even harder than before. "She's, you know, just a friend."

Claire grinned. "No, she's not! I can tell. You're in _love_ with her."

Brian couldn't keep the smile off of his face, though he tried very hard to do so. "No, really. She's just this girl we met on vacation. We, you know, we write letters and stuff." Claire looked at him skeptically and he let out a frustrated sigh. "I swear! She's not my girlfriend!"

Claire crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. "Is she pretty?"

Brian blushed so hard that his ears turned red. "Um, yeah."

"Do you have a picture of her?" Brian hesitated and she jumped in before he could protest. "Let me see it."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Fine." He set his water on the counter and left the room, returning less than a minute later with a small framed photograph of Brian and a girl their age. The were grinning, huddled close together so that the girl could take the picture from such a short distance. Claire studied her closely and decided that she was pretty in the way that nice girls are pretty. She had clear skin and a sweet smile, but was not what Claire would consider beautiful. Maybe if she lost ten, even fifteen pounds. Maybe if she pulled her hair back or wore some lipstick. Maybe if she was wearing something other than a bright yellow raincoat. Maybe _then_ she would be beautiful enough to hang out with Claire and her friends.

Suddenly, Claire grabbed the picture from Brian's hand. "Brian!"

Brian jumped slightly. "What? What's wrong?"

Claire smirked and grabbed the frame from him. "Where was this taken?"

Brian's eyes went wide. "Um, we were on vacation."

"You mentioned that. Where did you go?"

Brian sighed, defeated. "Niagra Falls."

Claire burst out laughing. "I thought you said she wasn't your girlfriend!"

"She's not!" Brian buried his face in his hands and groaned. "It was just the first thing I thought of, you know?"

Claire kept laughing as she put the pieces together. "So, does she live in Canada, too?"

"No, she's from New York. I just made that part up."

Claire smirked as he sighed and leaned back against the kitchen counter. "So, what would Karen say if found out what you said about her?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that you two…" Claire blushed and Brian's eyes went wide again.

"Oh, God. I didn't… I mean, I didn't mean anything by it!"

Claire laughed and gave him the picture back. "Don't worry, I won't tell her."

Brian sighed and looked down at the picture. "Yeah, I know." Claire watched him run his thumb over the glass. After a moment, the corners of his mouth turned up a little and he pursed his lips to keep from smiling. Claire felt confused and maybe even a bit jealous. Not because she wanted Brian for herself, but because she couldn't figure out why Brian was so obviously adored the girl in the picture. Claire was prettier; that wasn't arrogance, just a simple fact. So, what was it about her that made Karen so special, if not her looks?

Brian glanced up at Claire and took a deep breath. "Um, are you ready to get back to work?"

Claire sighed. "Yeah."

* * *

A/N: Please review. Thanks. : ) 


	34. Pieces of the Truth

A/N: Thanks for your reviews!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-four: Pieces of the Truth

* * *

After Claire left, Allison didn't have a lot to do. Her fingers were practically aching for a pen and paper, but she refused to give them the satisfaction. Not after her father compared her work to her mother's as if she had no creativity of her own and turned her sanctuary into an art competition.

Instead of drawing, Allison holed up in her room and dug out her old atlases. They weren't hers, of course; or, at least, they hadn't started out that way. One of them belonged to the public library, one to the school library (as if anyone there would actually use it) and the other belonged to her father, who hadn't looked at it for years and probably still hadn't noticed that it was missing.

She picked up her father's first and flipped to her favorite pages, which had maps of the countries she wanted to travel to first when she left. Some of the pages had notes in the margins and hearts and stars over cities and other points of interest. All of the writing was done in marker: blue, pink, purple, orange, red. She traced a finger over the childish scrawl and misspelled words and allowed herself a tiny smile.

At around lunchtime, there was a knock on her door. She hid the atlases under her desk and opened the door, finding her father on the other side. "You have a phone call. I'm sorry that I forgot to tell you, but he called yesterday, too."

Allison nodded, but a feeling of dread wrapped around her stomach, refusing to let go even when she grabbed the phone in the kitchen. She closed her eyes and spoke quickly, hoping to get the conversation over with before she lost her nerve. "Hello?"

"Allison? It's Andy."  
Allison took a deep breath and tried not to dissolve into a puddle at the sound of his voice. _Be strong. _"I know."

"Oh." She could hear him moving around on the other end of the line. "Um, I tried to call yesterday, but your dad said-"

"I know."

Andy paused. "Oh… okay. Well, I was thinking maybe we could, you know, grab a bite to eat somewhere. There's this-"

"I'm not hungry."

"Is there something wrong? Because you sound like you're mad at me."

Allison clenched her jaw. "Yes, I am mad."

"Why? What did I do?"

"Why didn't you tell me what happened between you and John?"

"John? You mean Bender?"

"Yes."

Andy sighed. "I just forgot. I'm sorry. It wasn't that big of a deal."

"What happened?"

"He just was being an asshole, like always."

Allison gulped down her fury. "So, he deserved what he got?"

Andy sounded confused. "Uh, yeah, I guess he did. I mean, he started it. I just finished it."

"Oh, _you_ finished it?" Allison could hardly keep her voice down by that point. "I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"What! Because of Bender? Why is this such a big deal?"

Allison didn't answer. Instead, she hung up the phone and ran back up to her room.

* * *

Andy stared at the phone for a moment before hanging up, complete and utterly confused about what had just happened. The last time he'd seen Allison, they were eating Italian food and laughing over a disastrous game of table football. How did she find out about the fight anyway? And why was she more concerned about Bender than she was about him?

He considered calling her right back and demanding an explanation, but before he could pick up the phone again, his father walked into the living room. Mr. Clark nodded at his son, who was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt. "Are you going to work out?"

Andy, who still had a headache the size of Europe, had absolutely no plans for physical activity that day. "Um, yeah. Of course."

Mr. Clark nodded. "Let me get my keys. I'll take you to the gym."

Andy felt his stomach turn into knots at the image of his dad standing over him, yelling at him for not being able to lift his usual. "Actually, Dad…" His father glanced over at him, waiting. "I, uh… I promised John I'd go with him today. He needs some help… with his half-nelson."

Mr. Clark frowned. "I don't want you goin' over there playin' trainer. You may think it's fun, but you've got yourself to worry about now. It's going to be you in that winner's circle next weekend, not John, no matter how much he practices."

Andy nodded, though what really he wanted to do was punch his father in the face for judging his best friend by his wrestling skills instead of the way he treated Andy. "Um, yeah, I know. It's just that, uh, John's parents just got some new weight machines for their home gym and John said I could come over and use them."

Mr. Clark eyed his son skeptically. "New weights?"

"Yeah. They're really top of the line. Better than the one's at the gym."

Mr. Clark thought about this for moment, then sighed. "Alright. Just remember what I said. John may be your friend, but he ain't worth riskin' a scholarship over. I don't want you blowin' this match because you two goofed off instead of workin' out."

Andy clenched his jaw and nodded, too afraid to say anything for fear that it would be something closer to 'fuck you' than 'sure, no problem'.

Mr. Clark nodded stiffly. "Well, work hard." When he left the room, Andy let out a frustrated sigh and reached for the phone. John picked up on the eighth ring.

"Hello?"

"John, I need to come over."

"Andy? Why the fuck are you calling so early?"

Andy rolled his eyes. "It's 11:30, you idiot."

John groaned and rustled around, obviously still in bed and not quite awake. "I set my alarm for 2:00. Can you call back then?"

"No!" Andy looked around to make sure that no one had heard his outburst. He lowered his voice. "No, I need to come over now. I told my dad we were working out today."

John laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah, right. I am so not working out today, man."

"Duh. I'm not either, but he was going to go with me if I didn't go with you."

"Oh." More shuffling on the other end. "Yeah, okay. Come over."

"Thanks, man."

"But I'm not, like, fixing you lunch or anything. In fact, stop on the way and get me something."

"Yeah, okay."

"But nothing with ham… or tomatoes."

"Okay."

"Or onions."

"Okay."

"Or eggs, because my stomach is really-"

"Okay! God, I'll see you in a minute." Andy hung up the phone and sighed. Thank goodness for friends, even when they're hung over.

…………

When John opened his front door, Andy burst out laughing. "You look like hell."

John sneered and grabbed one of the three bags of fast food from Andy's hand. "What'd you bring me?"

"A ham sandwich with tomatoes and onions… with a side of eggs."

"Fuck off."

As soon as they took a seat at the kitchen table, John started rummaging through the bags, pulling out hamburgers and tater tots. "Where were you last night? I looked around for you, but someone said you'd already taken off."

"Oh, yeah. I'm sorry about that. I was just ready to go and… you know, I couldn't find you."

John shrugged and took a bite of his hamburger. "It's cool. One of Caleb's buddies took us home. A football player. Jordan…" He stopped chewing and thought carefully for a moment, no small feat when he'd consumed God knows how much alcohol the night before. "Foster. No, Fawcett."

Andy nodded. "Yeah, I saw him last night."

John rolled his eyes. "I didn't think we'd ever make it home. I swear, every time we said left, he'd turn right. Finally, he started holding up his hands like this…" John held his hands out, palms facing away from him, index fingers pointing straight up and the thumbs pointing inward. "…like we learned in kindergarten, you know? The left hand makes an 'L' and the right doesn't." He shook his head. "For a while there, I was ready to knock him out and take over the wheel."

Andy laughed and started eating his chicken nuggets. "Yeah, he had some blonde upstairs with him. He was telling her some story about someone getting beaten up."

John narrowed his eyes. "Really? What else did he say?"

"I don't remember. I was a little drunk at the time."

John clenched his jaw. "Man, Caleb can't keep his mouth shut."

"What do you mean?"

John looked at Andy for a moment as if trying to make up his mind about something, but before he could say anything, the phone rang. John sighed and went to answer it. Andy finished off his nuggets and went back to the bag for more fries.

"Yes, Mr. Clark. Andy is here." John lifted his eyebrows in Andy's direction as Andy froze, a French fry inches away from his open mouth. "Uh, no, sir. He's…" He looked at Andy again for help, but Andy didn't say anything. "He's still downstairs working out, sir. I just came up to get us some water, but Andy, you know how he is. Can't stop if he tried."

Andy sighed gratefully. John rolled his eyes at Mr. Clark's response, then stuck his middle finger up at the handset. "Um, yes, sir. I will… yes, sir… I promise I will, sir… Okay, good bye, sir." John hung up the phone and took a seat at the table.

"What did he say?"

"He said he wants you to stop working so hard because he's worried you won't have a life outside of wrestling if you don't take it easy."

Andy's eyes went wide. "What?"

John rolled his eyes. "God, you have no sense of humor."

Andy pushed him as hard as he could, nearly causing John to fall out of the chair. "You asshole."

"God, sorry." John collected himself and grabbed the fast food bag again. "He said I should make sure that you get enough fluids and that you practice your quarter-nelson."

Andy clenched his jaw. "Fucking prick."

John nodded in agreement. They ate in silence for a few minutes until John suddenly leaned over and hit Andy on the shoulder. "Oh, man, I totally forgot. Josie and Brad broke up again!"

Andy rolled his eyes. "What now?"

"He was totally makin' out with some other chick upstairs and she found them… again." John grinned. "You know what that means, right? Josie's available."

"Yeah, until she forgives him again."

John shrugged. "True, but there's this window of opportunity, you know? Gotta take it while it's there."  
Andy smirked. "What about Susan?"

"Susan?" John rolled his eyes. "I meant you, you idiot!"

"Me?" It took Andy a moment before he realized that John still didn't know about Allison. Even though she wasn't speaking to him, he still considered her… his girlfriend? No, not yet. But she was something… maybe. If she ever forgave him for whatever the hell he did wrong. "Uh, no, thanks."

"Why not?"

"She's, uh, not my type."

John looked at him as though he was out of his mind. "What, hot?"

"It's just that…" Andy paused, trying to decide whether or not to tell John about Allison or not. "There's this g-"

Suddenly, the phone rang. John groaned and went to answer it. "Hello?" He paused, then rolled his eyes at Andy. "Hello, Mr. Clark."

* * *

Bender snuck out of his window on Sunday evening and walked over to the park. He was still trying to decide whether or not he wanted to see Roger after their fight the night before. Part of him cared too much about their friendship to let one fight get the best of him, but another, larger part was still pissed off about being treated like a child.

In the distance, he could see the merry-go-round, but it was empty. At least, he thought it was until he came up beside it and saw Jimmy curled up in a little ball, asleep. Bender sat down next to him and smoked a cigarette. Jimmy's senses, finely tuned after years of smoking everything from weed to crack, finally picked up on Bender's presence after about three cigarettes and twenty minutes. Bender glanced over at him and grinned. "Good morning, sweetheart."

Jimmy furrowed his brow in confusion and sat up straight. His blonde hair was sticking up in various directions and his plaid flannel shirt, which was way too big for him since it used to belong to Roger, was wrinkled in spots. "Bender?"

"No, it's the Easter Bunny."

Jimmy laughed sleepily and swung his legs over the side of the merry-go-round. "There's no such thing as the Easter Bunny."

"You don't say."

They sat together for a few minutes in silence while Bender smoked another cigarette and Jimmy finished waking up from his nap. Finally, Jimmy glanced over at his friend. "Can I have one?"

Bender handed him a cigarette and lit it for him. Jimmy took a drag and looked back at Bender. "I saw the Earring Girl yesterday."

Bender furrowed his brow in confusion. "Yesterday?"

Jimmy nodded. "She came over to the t-shacks looking for you, but you were gone."

Bender rolled his eyes. "You mean Friday then."

"That's what I said." Jimmy took another drag. "She was asking if you were okay."

Bender frowned. "And what did you tell her?"

"I said I didn't know."

Bender nodded. A couple of minutes later, Jimmy spoke again. "Have you ever had a strawberry, man?"

"Yes."

"Oh. They're really good, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Jimmy nodded. "Last night, I was really hungry and I kept wishing I had some of those strawberries she gave me on Friday."

Bender rolled his eyes, knowing Jimmy well enough to know why he was hungry. Then, he furrowed his brow in confusion. "Wait, she gave you strawberries?"

"Uh huh."

"She just gave them to you?"

Jimmy nodded, still staring off into the distance. "Yeah, she wanted me to try this peanut butter stuff, too, but it looked really gross."

Bender stared at Jimmy, not sure which one of them was hallucinating. "She had lunch with you?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Jimmy shrugged. "I don't know. She asked if she could sit with me and I said yes."

_Asked. _Bender shook his head slightly, hoping that the movement would clear his head and help things to make a little more sense. It didn't work.

Jimmy stubbed his cigarette out on the ground and looked over at Bender. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

* * *

A/N: Please review. Thanks. 


	35. Misunderstood

A/N: Thanks for reading!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-five: Misunderstood

* * *

"…so, if Train A, moving at a constant speed of 60 miles per hour, leaves the station at 5:00 P.M. and Train B, moving at a constant speed of 70 miles per hour, leaves the station at 7:00 P.M., who will arrive their destination, a station located five hundred miles away, first? And, at what time will that train arrive?"

Allison yawned and went back to her drawing, which was shaping up quite nicely. The whole 'not drawing' thing hadn't turned out too well for her and she'd given into temptation Sunday evening when her fingers were practically vibrating for lack of something solid to hold onto.

"… move onto question number five. Building A, which is 390 feet tall, was erected at a rate of 12 feet per day. Building B, which is 450 feet tall, was erected at a rate of 15 feet per day. Which building was erected first?" There was a pause, then: "Mr. Bender?"

Allison glanced over at Bender, who was sitting on the back row a few seats down from her. He had his feet propped up on his desk and was fiddling with a lighter in the hand dangling next to the floor. She hadn't seen him at all last week, except for that first Monday when he'd nodded at her from across the room. She watched him curiously as he looked at Mr. Waverly solemnly. "Yes, sir, could you please repeat the question?"

Mr. Waverly paused, baffled that Bender cared enough to listen once, much less twice. Finally he nodded hesitantly and repeated the question. When he finished, he glanced back at Bender expectantly. "So?"

"So, what?"

The physics teacher paused confusedly. "So, did you want to answer the question?"

Bender let out a small chuckle. "No."

"Then why did you ask me to repeat it?"

"I just think it's funny to hear you say the word 'erected'."

The class tittered, but Mr. Waverly just sighed and flipped to the next page. "Question six…"

"Man, that guy is such an asshole."

Allison peeled her eyes away from Bender and glanced over at the two boys sitting next to her. They were both wearing letter jackets, but she couldn't see the names on the back.

"Yeah, but he learned his lesson."

Allison's heart started beating faster when she realized that they were talking about Bender. She leaned back a few inches in her chair to get a better look at the back of the redheaded guy's letter jacket. _Caleb Greene._

The blonde guy nodded. "Yeah, I know. He, like, totally attacked me in detention on Saturday."

"Really?" The redhead gaped at him. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, but I took care of him." The blonde guy grinned cockily.

Caleb shook his head. "Jordan, man, you didn't say nothin', did you? 'Cause John said we couldn't say a word. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, even you."

Jordan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Uh, no… I didn't say anything."

Caleb let out a deep breath. "Good. Just keep your mouth shut, alright?"

Jordan nodded quickly and Caleb turned back around in his seat. He sighed, then nestled into his chair and buried his head into the crook of his elbow. Within minutes, he was sound asleep. Allison looked down at the floor, where the jock's sports bag was resting wide open. She glanced over at the blonde boy, but he was too busy playing a game of thumb war with himself to notice her. Before she could stop herself, she reached down into the bright blue sports bag and pulled out the first thing she touched: a pair of tighty-whities.

Horrified, Allison tightened her grip on the underwear and stuck her hand under the desk before anyone would notice what she had done. She cringed at the thought of where the underwear had been, but managed not to throw up. After looking around to make sure no one had seen her, Allison stuffed the briefs into her messenger bag and slumped back into her seat, exhilarated and exhausted all at the same time.

After a few seconds, she glanced over in Bender's direction. He was watching her curiously and she wondered if he'd seen her take the jock's underwear. He lifted his eyebrows at her, but didn't offer any other form of greeting. She smiled nervously and turned back to the front of the room, where Waverly was talking about acceleration or something equally as boring. She didn't really care about physics. All she cared about was forgetting Andy Clark and teaching a lesson to those bastards he called friends.

* * *

Bender managed to stay awake during physics, though it had less to do with his incredible thirst for knowledge and more to do with the sheer amount of pleasure he received from torturing that poor, gullible man with the wire-rimmed glasses and a comb-over. He'd looked over at Allison a couple of times, but she was acting really fidgety and he couldn't decide if that was unusual for her or not.

When the bell rang, Bender took his time getting to his feet. The redheaded jock he'd befriended under the bleachers on Thursday knocked into him roughly on the way out the door. He gave Bender a fake smile when he got out into the hallway. "Sorry."

Bender shot him an even faker smile. "No problem, Red."

The boy narrowed his eyes menacingly. "You lookin' for another fight, asshole?"

Bender held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, don't get your panties all in a wad. I meant no disrespect at all. In fact, I _love_ redheads."

The boy rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath before continuing down the hall. Bender flicked him off and started walking towards his English class. He didn't usually go to so many classes all at once, but decided not to waste his good mood by sitting all alone under the bleachers.

Mrs. Cardarelli was one of the hottest teachers in school, or at least she could be if she didn't dress like a librarian. On Monday, she was wearing a red cardigan and a simple black skirt that went past her knees. This was unfortunate because Bender had caught glimpses of her legs before and felt that she could keep her male students a little more alert during class if she flashed them some skin.

Once class started, Bender tuned out Mrs. Cardarelli's lecture over the Beat poets and caught a little nap at his desk. He finally woke when the bell rang, signaling the end of class. He was trying to decide if he was up for one more period when Mrs. Cardarelli called out to him. "John? Can you come over here for a minute?"

Bender walked slowly over to her desk, where she was organizing some papers. He didn't say anything, just waited for her to talk.

Mrs. Cardarelli set the papers on the desk and adjusted her glasses. "I'm glad you showed up today. I was starting to forget what you looked like."

"Yeah, well, I've been having trouble sleeping lately. I figured this might give me the push I needed."

Mrs. Cardarelli smiled. "Is that so?"

"Insomnia…it's a terrible thing."

She nodded sympathetically. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I was hoping you came because you actually cared about your grade."

Bender clucked his tongue. "Terry, Terry. Don't you know me at all?"

"Don't call me Terry."

"Why not?"

"Because my name is Tess. Do you realize, John, that you're failing my class?"

"Tess? I could have sworn it was Terry…"

"For this grading period, you have turned in only _one_ of eight homework assignments."

Bender tried to look surprised. "I turned in homework?"

"If you plan on graduating, you'll need to pass this class. I don't mind helping you. That's what I'm here for."

Bender pretended to give this some thoughtful consideration, then looked up and smirked at her. "You know what I think this is about?"

Mrs. Cardarelli crossed her arms over her chest and gave him her best 'go ahead, impress me' look. "What?"

"I think you have a little crush on me." She glared at him, but he kept smiling. "You've got a little crush on me and you don't know how to tell me, so you're going to 'tutor' me, is that it?"

Mrs. Cardarelli walked around to the other side of the desk, putting space between her and Bender. "Don't change the subject."

"Really, I'm flattered, but I think I'm a little young for you. I mean, I am of legal age, but I'm still your student and I don't think it would be approp-"

She put up a hand to stop him. "That's enough. You've made your point."

"Good. Can I go now?"

"No. I want to start seeing some effort from you. If you're going to pass this class, you'll have to actually show up."

Bender grimaced. "Yeah, I understand that, but, you see, being a juvenal delinquent is a 24/7 kind of job and I can't start compromising my good name by showing up to classes all the time."

Mrs. Cardarelli studied him closely. "Don't pretend like you're stupid, John, because I know that you aren't."

Bender scoffed. "You have to say that to everyone. All teachers do. It's a law."

"It's not a law and, no, I don't say it to every student. I've read your essays. You know, the one or two you've managed to turn in. Do you read in your spare time?"

Bender narrowed his eyes. "No."

"That's funny because your vocabulary is outstanding and you've got a knack for sentence structure." She smirked. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

Bender clenched his jaw. "So, I'm a genius, is that it? The intelligent, misunderstood criminal not living up to his full potential. It's a little clichéd."

"Maybe, but it's true."

"So, where does that leave me? I think the smart criminal gig's only good for planning bank robberies."

"It doesn't have to be that way."

"Oh, and how can it be?"

"Well, for starters you can show up for class. Maybe pass the eleventh grade. Then, who knows? Maybe you can go to college."  
Bender let out a sharp chuckle. "Is this the part where you tell me that if I only applied myself, then maybe I could 'make something of my life'?"

"This isn't a joke, John. It's your future."

"Is there a difference?"

"There can be."

Bender smiled condescendingly. "I appreciate what you're trying to do here, Tess. Really, I do. But this routine only works in the movies and, last time I checked, this isn't a movie." He took a few steps towards the door.

"John."

He turned, eyebrows arched expectantly.

"I expect to see you in class tomorrow."

"I'm sure you do." He grinned and blew her a kiss. "See you around, Tess."

* * *

Brian let out a small yelp as a piece of wood fell onto his foot from the table he was using as a workspace. He took a deep breath and bent down to pick it up, cursing that stupid kiddie slide for ruining life. Shop was hard enough with two hands. With one, it was practically impossible.

"Is everything alright?"

Brian looked up to see Mr. Douglas, his shop teacher, standing in front of him. Mr. Douglas didn't tolerate slackers or smart mouths, but he was a nice man and Brian liked him. "Um, yes, sir."

"How did you break your arm?"

Brian sighed, though he knew he'd have to start answering the question sooner or later. "I fell."

Mr. Douglas nodded and didn't ask him to elaborate, which Brian appreciated. "I know it's going to give you some problems when it comes to finishing your table."

Brian looked at the pile of wood at his feet. Some of the pieces were cut and ready to be put together, while others were untouched. He hadn't even started on the detailing yet and wondered what on earth he'd do when it came time for that. "Yes, sir."

"Well, I'm afraid that you'll have to finish it, despite your injury. It wouldn't be fair to the other students if I let you off the hook." He gave Brian an understanding smile. "But it would also be unfair to penalize you for something you can't control. I would be happy to let you stay after school to work on it. If it came down to it, I may also give you an extension." He paused. "I know this class has been difficult for you, but I appreciate your hard work."

Brian nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Mr. Douglas smiled. "We'll just take it one step at a time, alright?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Douglas left Brian to his work, which was nearly pointless since he wasn't really getting anything done anyway. He slumped back down in his seat and stared at his notes, which were mathematically correct in every way. Not that it mattered when he couldn't use the table saw without nearly slicing off one of his fingers.

"Awww, that's so sweeeet."

Brian glanced across the aisle, where a couple of boys were smirking at him. One was pretending that he was about to cry. "Look, guys. It's got hearts and everything."

Brian blushed and glanced down at his cast. He had promised Leah that she could draw on it if she left him and Claire alone long enough to finish studying on Sunday. Unfortunately, he'd been too wrapped up in reading Hamlet that he hadn't paid any attention to what she'd been drawing. A deadly mistake, as he soon learned. There, in full color, were hearts, stars, flowers, rainbows and stick figures, including one on a slide with 'Brian' written above it in large pink letters. He could have killed her.

"And look at the rainbows! It's like Care Bears or something."

Brian clenched his jaw and turned back to his page of notes. Wasn't that what you were supposed to do when someone picked on you, ignore them? In his experience, it hadn't ever worked, but theories existed for a reason and he was willing to stick with that option since he really didn't have any others. It still didn't change the fact that he hated guys like that. He hated that they thought they were so much better than he was just because they were suave and good-looking and could probably force him to eat his own liver if they wanted to.

"Hey, dork. Can I draw a picture, too?"

Brian tried even harder to focus on the paper in front of him. _Two inches thick, 30 inches wide and…_

"I'll draw you some flowers. Roses, since they're obviously your favorite."

…_18 inches long. It's 36 inches tall, so the legs have to be…_

"But only if I can use the pink marker because that's my favorite."

Brian had never been so happy to hear the bell ring in his entire life.


	36. Apology Accepted

A/N: Enjoy this chapter…

* * *

Chapter 36: Apology Accepted

* * *

Bender was in such a good mood after English that he decided to go to his third period class, American History. His teacher, Mr. Petruzzi, wasn't half as good looking as Tess, which is why he rarely showed up, but he figured that he should probably give the guy a chance and not be so judgmental.

Ten minutes later, Bender was falling asleep at his desk again, thanks to Mr. Petruzzi, who sounded as though he were trying to speak from his nose or ears instead of his mouth. After about thirty minutes of off-and-on dozing, Bender gave up on academic success and asked for the bathroom pass.

Out in the hall, Bender headed towards his locker. Once he got there, he realized that he still didn't remember the combination to the lock Carl had given him the week before. He groaned and walked to the cafeteria, where Carl had just finished mopping the floor. Bender snuck up behind him and grabbed the giant bundle of keys hanging from his belt loop.

"Hey!" Carl turned around swiftly, nearly hitting Bender in the face with his mop handle. When he saw who it was, Carl sighed in frustration. "Come on, John. Give me a break, will 'ya?"

Bender smirked and started swinging the keys around in circles. "Can't you at least pretend like you're happy to see me?"

Carl grabbed the keys, nearly taking off one of Bender's fingers in the process. "No."

Bender pouted. "Carl, I'm hurt. I thought we were friends."

Carl looked back at him, amused. "Oh, you did, did you?" He clipped the keys onto the other side of his uniform and grabbed his mop again.

Bender nodded. "Plus, Vernon and I had a little spat. He said I can't come to his birthday party anymore."

Carl smirked. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, it's a shame, too, because it had a superhero theme and I'd just picked up my Wonder Woman costume from the dry cleaners." Bender shot Carl his best wounded deer look. "You're all I have left, Carl."

"Then I feel sorry for you." Bender nodded sadly and Carl sighed. "Aren't you supposed to be in class right now?"

Bender whipped out Mr. Petruzzi's bathroom pass and smiled triumphantly. "Bathroom pass."

"So, go to the bathroom."

"But you just mopped…"

Carl rolled his eyes. "What do you want, John?"

Bender shrugged. "I need a new lock."

"What happened to the one I gave you last week?"

"Forgot the combination."

"I'm not givin' you another one."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not."

"That's not a very good reason."

"I don't _need_ a good reason."

"But I _do_ need a lock."

Carl smirked. "Okay. What're you gonna do for me then?"

Bender narrowed his eyes. "Are you asking me to get you drugs?"

Carl rolled his eyes. "No, but I appreciate the sentiment. I was thinking of something along the lines of you showin' up to school everyday."

Bender wrinkled his nose. "That's what you want?"

Carl nodded. "That's what I want." When he saw that Bender was still confused, he smiled. "I don't need much. I'm a simple man."

"Somehow, I doubt that." Bender sighed. "So, how long're we talkin' for? A week?"

"Actually, I was thinking the rest of the school year."

Bender's mouth dropped open. "That's impossible. What if I get a cold or something?"

"I'll give you a tissue."

"What if I'm throwing up?"

"I've got buckets in my closet."

"What if I get shot?"

"I'll give you a Band-Aid."

Bender sighed. "So, I just have to show up, right?"

"Right."

"There's not a hidden homework clause, is there?"

"I'll take what I can get."

Bender narrowed his eyes. "Fine."

Carl smiled and held out his hand. "We've got ourselves a deal."

Bender reached out and shook his hand. "Now, where's my lock?"

Carl put his mop down and led Bender back to the janitor's closet, where, once again, Bender opted for a blue lock over a pink one. They walked to Bender's locker so that Carl could cut off the old one.

"You gonna remember the combination this time?"

"I'll tattoo it to my forehead."

Carl shook his head and left Bender at his locker to replace it with a new one. When Bender was finished, he glanced at the clock on the other end of the hall and realized that he still had a few minutes before lunch officially started. Not that anything official really meant anything to him anyway.

Bender started walking outside to the t-shacks, hoping he'd have enough time to smoke a cigarette before Jimmy showed up. He dug into his pocket for his cigarettes and turned down the next corridor. When he saw who was standing there, he stopped dead in his tracks.

* * *

"Fancy meeting you here."

Claire froze, one hand on the locker door and the other on the hall pass Mr. Waverly had given her to leave class early to run errands for the prep club sponsor. She heard footsteps coming up behind her and whirled around, ending up face to face with John Bender. He smirked. "You skipping?"

"No." Claire could feel her face turning beet red. "What are you doing here?"

Bender shrugged. "Didn't feel like going to class."

Claire slammed her locker door shut. "I have to go."

"So soon?"

Claire furrowed her brow in confusion. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"This!" Claire gestured wildly at Bender, who was standing only a couple of feet away from her. "Can't you go torture someone else today?"

Bender's smile disappeared for a moment, but it was back again soon enough. "I just thought maybe we could have lunch together."

Claire gaped at him. "No!"

"Why not?"

"Because." She paused as he came closer, forcing her to take a step backwards. With her back flat against the lockers, she took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "Because we can't," she said weakly.

"Hmmm…" Bender took another step towards her, reaching out to touch her. His fingers alighted softly on the crook of her arm and trailed down to her wrist. He opened her hand up very slowly, then traced the lines on her palm with his callused fingers. She held her breath expectantly, wondering how someone could make her feel this way just by touching her hand.

Suddenly, the pain and embarrassment of their encounter after detention came flying back to her in a single instant. "No, John. You can't!" She jerked her hand away and looked back up at his face. "You can't just treat me like you did on Saturday and then expect to come back today as if nothing's wrong."  
Bender sighed. "Damn, why do you have to make this so difficult?"

Claire glared at him. "Why do you have to _be_ this difficult?"

Bender smirked. "I thought that was your favorite part."

"Just… just leave me alone, alright?" She started to edge away from him, but he put a hand on the locker beside her, blocking her path.

"Okay, I'll let you go. There's just one thing…" He leaned closer and closer until their faces were only inches apart. "…just one thing I need to tell you…" He brushed a few strands of hair away from her ear. She could feel the heat radiating from his body… or was it from hers? It didn't matter. They were standing so close that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek, then her ear. He put a hand on her waist, but she didn't protest or even move.

He moved down to her neck, never once kissing or even touching her. She could still feel him breathing against her skin and wondered absently what she would do if someone walked by just then. Would she scream or push him away? God, would she even notice? Finally, his lips found a soft spot on her neck and her own breathing stopped altogether. The hand on her waist tightened its grip, this time to keep her upright. Tentatively, she reached around and put a hand on his side, grabbing onto his blue flannel shirt. He laughed softly into her neck then trailed back up to her ear and put his lips against her earlobe. "How's that for an apology?"

It took Claire a moment before she realized what he was talking about. She blinked a few times and glanced around nervously, pushing him away. He smirked, still waiting for her answer.

Claire swallowed and tried to look as dignified as possible under the circumstances. "Apology accepted."

* * *

A/N: Please review : ) 


	37. And What Is That Supposed to Mean?

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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Chapter Thirty-seven: And What Is _That_ Supposed to Mean?

* * *

Andy pulled his shirt on over his head and reached into his locker for his shoes. On the other side of the locker room, some of the guys were swapping stories from the party on Saturday, mostly about sex. Andy rolled his eyes and tugged on his socks and shoes while he waited for John to finish dressing on the next aisle over.

"Which one of you asswipes stole my underwear?"

Andy grinned as Caleb stalked back and forth across the walkway by the urinals. He wasn't wearing anything except for a towel around his waist and very sour expression. "It was you, wasn't it, Evans? You better give 'em back, you fuckin' prick."

Andy laughed when he heard the boys start arguing on the other side of the locker room. Just as he finished tying his shoelaces, John emerged from the aisle over smelling faintly of cologne. "You ready?"

"Yeah." Andy grabbed his gym bag and the two of them started walking towards the cafeteria.

"So, what'd your dad say when you got home?"

Andy shrugged. "He wasn't there. He had to take Nicole to a friend's house."

"He still on your ass about the meet this weekend?"

"What d'you think?"

John shrugged. "It sucks, dude. I think you should just tell him to fuck off, you know? You're gonna win anyway. He doesn't have to be such a prick about it."

Andy considered John's words for a moment, but not the part about telling his dad to back off; he'd been dreaming of that day since he was thirteen, maybe even earlier. It was the part about him winning that threw him off a bit. He loved wrestling. He knew he did. But if he was able to wrestle the way he wanted, to have fun instead of playing the star, would it be the same? John loved wrestling, too, but he didn't practice much. His parents had enough money to send him to college without a scholarship, so he'd never pushed himself and, as a result, didn't win very often. What if Andy's father was like John's? Would he be a winner if his dad hadn't pushed him so hard? Would he still be Andy Clark, State Wrestling Champion… or just another guy in tights?

Andy and John took a seat at the wrestling table, where a couple of guys had started unpacking their lunches already. Corey Johnson, a tall, awkward boy with hair so blonde it was almost white, was peeling an orange on the other side of the table next to John. He smiled kindly at Andy, but didn't say anything.

"Hey, Johnson, were you at Dakota's party on Saturday?"

Corey glanced over at John. "No."

John shook his head. "You never come to these things, man."

Corey shrugged. "I'm just busy, I guess."

John grinned. "Oh, busy? Busy with what?"

"Oh, you know, school, work-"

"Girls."

Corey blushed slightly. "No, I didn't mean that."

"Sure, you didn't."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Lay off, John."

John laughed. "Come on, man. Tell us all about her."

Corey's face was turning redder and redder by the minute. "No, really. I wasn't with anyone."

"Why not? You're a good-looking guy. I'm sure the chicks are crawling all over you."

"No, really. I don't date that much."

John stroked his chin and narrowed his eyes. "You know what we need to do?"

Corey almost looked afraid. "What?"

"We need to set you up with someone."

The blonde boy's eyes widened. "No, that's okay. I don't-"

"I mean, I know for a fact that Josie is free." John nudged Andy in the ribs. "Ain't that right, Clark?"

Andy chuckled. "So I've heard."

John nodded in Andy's direction. "See? I'll do a little sniffin' around for you, see if she's interested."

"Oh, no, don't do that. She wouldn't be interested in someone like me."

"Why not? She digs wrestlers. You're a wrestler. One and one make two, last time I checked."

"But, I mean…" Corey glanced over at Andy for help, but Andy just shrugged. He listened distractedly as the two of them talked for a few minutes. It was funny how much the shy, blonde wrestler reminded Andy of Brian. They were both so awkward and… nice. Andy wondered why he'd never gotten to know Corey very well since he joined the team the year before.

"Come on. What's the worst that could happen?" John asked.

Corey sighed. "I don't know. Something bad."

John laughed. "You're so pessimistic. Josie's suffering from a broken heart. She needs someone who'll listen to her, someone to let her cry on their shoulder and, most of all, someone who won't cheat on her." John paused dramatically. "You wouldn't cheat on her, would you, Cor?"

Corey's eyes grew incredibly wide. "No, of course not."

"See, that's one thing you've already got going for you. Just leave it to me, alright?"

Corey nodded uncertainly and went back to his orange. Andy looked over at John, who had unwrapped his sandwich and was taking large bites. When he looked up at Andy, he smirked. "What?"

"You're such an asshole."

John grinned. "Guilty."

* * *

When Larry plopped down at the lunch table on Monday, the first thing he noticed was Brian's arm. "What happened to you?"

Brian blushed and glanced over at David, who was grinning. "You tell him."

"Well, he was attacked by a dragon and just as he was escaping through the tunnel on level six, he got caught in the dungeon, but his arm-"

"Okay, _I'll _do it." Brian rolled his eyes. "I fell of the slide in the park."

Larry furrowed his brow in confusion. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"That sucks."

Brian nodded and started unwrapping his sandwich. Just as he was about to take his first bite, Allison appeared out of nowhere and plopped down on the bench next to him. "Hi," he said.

Allison didn't answer, just threw her knapsack on the floor and pulled out a pen and a pad of paper. She flipped to a blank page and huddled over the paper without looking at any of the boys. Larry shot him a questioning glance, but Brian just shrugged. Everyone was silent for a few minutes, not sure if they should say anything or not. Finally, Larry cleared his throat. "Um, I promised Mr. McIntyre we'd hang up posters for the Math Club tomorrow at lunch."

Brian nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Again, the table descended into silence. Larry and Brian were sneaking worried glances at Allison, but probably for different reasons. David was staring at her sketchpad without expression, as if it wasn't strange at all that she was completely ignoring them.

Brian cleared his throat nervously. "So, David, um, how was your Chemistry test last week?"

"Fine."

"That's good."

Brian glanced over at Allison once more and took another bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "So, uh, convention this weekend."

"Yep."

"It's gonna be cool."

"Yep."

Again, the silence. After a few uncomfortable minutes, Brian dug into his bag and pulled out a black Sharpie. "Okay, who wants to write something _cool _on my cast?"

* * *

"…so, she stormed upstairs and flung open the door and was like, 'You pig! I trusted you!' and he was like, 'No, it's not how it looks, Josie!' even though it totally was."

Jamie Coogan sighed. "It's so sad."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Why, because he's 'so hot'?"

"No, because I heard Josie's really upset about it."

"They'll be back together again by the end of the week," said Amy.

Jamie shook her head. "No, I don't think she's going to forgive him this time."

"She always forgives him."

Jamie shrugged doubtfully, but kept her mouth shut. Claire finished off the last of her crab salad and stuffed the container back into her white shopping bag. When she dug around in the bag for the rest of her lunch, she found that Martha had packed passion fruit that day. _How appropriate._

Clarissa plopped a grape into her mouth and looked over at Jamie. "Did they reschedule the student council meeting? I heard Mr. McFarland's sick."

Jamie shrugged. "I think Vernon's running it today."

Clarissa wrinkled her nose. "Oh."

"Yeah."

A few minutes later, the bell rang, dismissing them to fourth period. Claire started following Amy and Clarissa to their American History class, but Natasha grabbed her before she could get too far. "You're being quiet."

Claire blushed. "Is that not allowed?"

Natasha smirked. "After school. I expect all the mushy details."

Claire couldn't keep the smile off of her face. "What details?"

"Don't be stupid. Meet me in the parking lot, alright?" Without waiting for an answer, Natasha swung her purse over her shoulder and started walking in the opposite direction.

Claire sighed and walked out into the hallway. Amy and Clarissa were nowhere to be seen, but she spotted Brian a few feet away taking a drink from the water fountain. She walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped slightly, spraying a little bit of water in his eye. "Oh, God, I'm sorry!"

"It's okay." Brian blinked and squinted up at her. "How are you?"

"Fine, you?"

"Fine."

The two of them stood in awkward silence for a moment until Brian cleared his throat. "So, uh, you had physics earlier, right?"

"Oh, yeah. I did."

"How was… I mean, how did that go?"

Claire wrinkled her nose. "It went alright, but we got our quizzes back from last week and I failed mine."

Brian's eyes went wide. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Brian furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "Are you failing the class?"

"No, I think I've got a C or maybe a D."

Brian nodded slowly. "I can talk to Mr. Waverly for you. Maybe he can give you some kind of extra credit assignment."

The idea of extra work for physics made Claire a bit nauseous, but she knew that a D wouldn't cut it when it came to applying to colleges next fall. Besides, maybe Brian's connections with Mr. Waverly meant that the assignment wouldn't be too bad. "That would be great. Thanks."

Brian smiled shyly. "No problem. I'll, uh… I guess I'll see you later then."

Claire nodded. "Bye."

"Bye."

As Claire continued down the hall towards her history class, she realized that maybe things were starting to look up.

……….

When fifth period rolled around, Claire was starting to think that maybe she'd been a bit hasty with her prediction. The first person she saw when she walked into her geometry class was Andy. Part of her wanted to find a seat on the opposite side of the room, as far away from him as possible. The other, larger part was ready to thrash him for what he'd done to John. She plopped down into the seat next to him and glared at the side of his head.

"Hey," he said, hardly looking up from his homework. She didn't say anything, just kept glaring at him. Finally, he looked up. "What?"

Claire found that she was almost too furious to answer him. "Anything you want to tell me?"

Andy furrowed his brow in confusion. "Like what?"

"Like about John?"

Andy rolled his eyes and went back to his homework. "Not this again."

"Yes, this again!" Claire grabbed his pencil, nearly stabbing him in the palm in the process.

"Hey!" Andy grabbed for the pencil, but she pulled her hand away. "Claire! This is so fucking ridiculous! Are you trying to make me fail?"

"Maybe. It's not like you wouldn't deserve it if you did."

"Oh, really?" Andy's eyes were blazing. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're an asshole."

"What did I do _this_ time?"

"You know what you did!"

Andy glared at her. "Is this some kind of joke? Because I'm not psychic, you know."  
"No, just a jerk."

Andy sighed. "This is so stupid. Just give me back my pencil."

"No, not until you tell me why you sent your friends after him."

"After who?" Andy grabbed for he pencil once more, but Claire jerked it out of the way.

"After John."

"Just give it ba-" Andy paused. "Wait, what?"

"I want to know why you sent them to beat him up."

"Beat him up?" he echoed.

"Yes, on Thursday."

"No one beat him up. We got into it in the hall. No one was hurt."

Claire scoffed. "I saw him on Saturday. He looked pretty bad."

Andy paused thoughtfully. "Well, it probably wasn't anyone from school."

Claire felt her face getting warm. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Andy looked at her as though the answer should be obvious. "Come on, Claire. You know what his dad does to him. Who said it's-"

"It wasn't his dad!" Claire yelled. A few people turned to stare at them, but she just glared at them until they turned away, embarrassed. She turned back to Andy. "You know anyone by the name of John Hamilton?"

Andy rolled his eyes. "Duh."

"Well, maybe you should ask him about it."

Andy stopped cold. "And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means that some wrestlers beat up John on Thursday. One of them was your friend."

"That's not true. Bender's lying."

"Oh, is he?" Claire narrowed her eyes. "That's right. He lies about everything, doesn't he?"

Andy glared at her, but she could see his expression softening. She swallowed deeply. "So, did you really not know?"

Andy didn't answer, just took the pencil out of Claire's hand and hunched back over his homework. She didn't stop him this time.


	38. The Truth Comes Out

A/N: Whoops, I wasn't thinking too clearly when I gave Corey Johnson his last name (though it is fairly common). No, he will not be related to Brian in any way, despite their similarities. However, there will be other connections made among the existing characters that will come up in future chapters.

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Chapter Thirty-eight: The Truth Comes Out

* * *

Allison didn't speak to anyone all morning. It wasn't like she was trying to avoid people; she just found that she had other, bigger things to think about. Like how to move on with her life when the person she trusted most turned out to be the scum of the earth.

She distracted herself by drawing. It wasn't out of the ordinary, since she did it a lot anyway, but on Monday it was serving its purpose better than ever before. Every time she would think about Andy or what he'd done or the way his whole face lit up when he grinned, she would grab the pen tighter than ever and imagine herself on the back of a camel in the middle of the desert in Egypt or buying fruit from the marketplace in Calcutta or lounging on a beach in the Maldives. Anywhere but Shermer High School.

Allison didn't see much of Claire during her American History class. Claire arrived just before the bell rang and left as soon as class was over, friends by her side. But just before she was swept out the door, she turned and made eye contact with Allison and gave her a small smile. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

After fifth period, Allison trudged out into the hall, sketchpad clutched against her chest. She stopped by her locker to drop off a book, then headed to her next class, which was study hall. She was grateful that she would finally be able to sit and draw in peace without anyone interrupting her, especially teachers expecting her to contribute to class discussions as though she actually cared what the Valley of Ashes symbolized in the Great Gatsby.

As she turned down the next corridor, Allison could see that a large crowd had gathered, blocking the hallway. She sighed and started walking alongside the lockers, hoping to squeeze through.

"Come on, Josie! It wasn't that big of a deal!"

"Not that big of a deal! You were making out with her!"

Allison rolled her eyes. High schoolers were so dramatic sometimes. She kept pushing through the crowd, even though she was eliciting some annoyed looks from bystanders trying to get a glimpse of the feuding couple. She just stuck her tongue out at them and kept pushing through.

"Excuse you. That was, like, my foot you just stepped on."

Allison glanced up at the boy speaking to her only to find that it was the blonde jock from her physics class. Jordan something. He was watching her expectantly as though she were supposed to apologize, but she just stared at him blankly. Finally, he gave up and turned back to the action in front of him.

Allison almost turned back around to keep fighting her way through the crowd, but then she remembered Jordan's words from that morning. "_He, like, totally attacked me in detention on Saturday… but I took care of him."_ Allison glanced back at the boy, but he wasn't paying any attention to her anymore. She looked down at the gym bag he had slung over his shoulder. The flap was hanging open a little bit… just enough to stick her hand inside. She felt her heart start beating a little more rapidly, her breathing become shallower. She glanced around to make sure that no one was watching, then reached in and grabbed the first thing she touched. A jock strap.

Allison flinched, but collected herself rather quickly and stuffed it into her knapsack before anyone could see what she'd done. Not that anyone ever noticed her anyway. Being invisible was finally coming in handy.

After her heart rate finally returned to normal, Allison managed to fight her way through the crowd and get to the classroom where her study hall was held. But before she could open the door, someone grabbed her from behind.

Allison whirled around, ready to spit or snarl or do something equally as intimidating. Instead, her mouth dropped open in surprise.

"I need to talk to you," said Claire.

* * *

Andy was the first person out the door after fifth period. He didn't wait for Claire so that she could give him all the details about Bender. There was only one person he wanted the details from and finding that one person was first on his list.

The North hallway was jammed with students, all of them craning their necks to get a better view of whoever was at the center of the rather large circle. Andy pushed through the middle of the crowd, not caring who he bumped into along the way. No one said anything to him, just let him pass. Being Shermer's star wrestler was finally coming in handy.

Andy made it through the crowd pretty quickly and continued down the hallway. It wasn't long before he made it to his destination.

"What did you do?"

John Hamilton craned his neck around his locker door, brow furrowed. When he saw who it was, he grinned. "Hey, man."

"I said, what the hell did you do?"

John's smile disappeared immediately. He wasn't an idiot; he knew exactly what Andy was talking about. "Look, man, it was-"

"I want details!" Andy was shouting by then, but he didn't care. "I want to know who it was and how it happened. Right now!"

John clenched his jaw and shut his locker door. "Me, Evans, and Greene. After school on Thursday, under the bleachers."

"Three of you? It took three of you?"

John flushed. "We had to make sure everything went smoothly."

"Smoothly? Is that what you call triple-teaming some poor bastard? Everything going smoothly?"

John narrowed his eyes and shrank back a couple of inches in surprise. "Poor bastard? Andy, it was that asshole that attacked you in the hall."

"You don't even know his name!"

"I didn't need to know his name! He attacked my friend. That's all the information I needed."

Andy felt a wave of guilt wash over him. The fight with Bender in the hallway wasn't his fault, but he'd allowed John to believe that Bender had just come out of nowhere, that he hadn't even known him. "So, do you attack everyone that messes with me? How many that I don't even know about, huh?"

"None!" John sighed loudly with frustration. "God, you make it sound like we've got this 'Protect Andy' club going on, like it was some fucking conspiracy or something."

"Oh, and it wasn't? When the hell were you planning on telling me?"

John closed his eyes to fend off his anger. "I was going to tell you on Sunday when you came over."

"Bull shit!"

"It's not bull shit!" John's eyes were open again and they were blazing this time. "I was going to tell you, but I never got the chance, alright? I just knew you wouldn't let me do it if I told you ahead of time."

"Damn right I wouldn't have! You can't go around beating up random people just because I had a little fight in the hall. I don't need someone to defend me like that. I can take care of myself."

"Bull shit, Andy. Bull _fucking_ shit." John shook his head angrily. "You wouldn't have stood up for yourself. You don't even have the guts to stand up to your old man!"

Brian, with his digital watch, may have been able to pinpoint the time more exactly, but to those watching the action from a few feet away, it took Andy about two full seconds to launch himself forward and pull his best friend into a half-nelson. John was so caught off guard that he couldn't put up much of a defense, though Andy was pretty sure that it wouldn't have mattered anyway when he had so much adrenaline pumping through him. He pushed John onto the floor and pinned his arms behind his back.

"Don't you ever say that to me! You, of all people, know-"

"Know what?" John shouted into the floor. "Know that he's a fucking bastard? Damn right I do! But I also know that you haven't said a damn thing to him about it. And you know what? That's your fault!"

The anger hit Andy like a ton of bricks. He pushed John forward onto the floor and stood up. John struggled to his feet, but not fast enough. Andy grabbed him by his letter jacket and slammed the taller boy against the row of lockers. He raised his fist in a movement to punch him in the face, but John, for all of his mediocre wrestling skills, had very fast reflexes. He put a hand up to his face and grabbed Andy's fist just before it connected. Andy expected him to use the move to his advantage and twist his arm, but John didn't do anything. He dropped Andy's fist and pushed his friend away from him so that he could stand up straight. For someone who had just been attacked, he appeared very calm. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Andy glared at him. "And why's that?"

John paused and took a deep breath. "Because if you punch me, you're gonna hurt your hand and it's gonna hurt you at the meet this Saturday." He smiled ironically. "Trust me, I know."

Before Andy could say anything, John picked up his backpack and walked away.


	39. Unspoken Questions

A/N: I know this story is rather long and involved and that it's been weeks and even months since you've read some of these chapters (if you've been with me from the beginning or middle, that is). So, just to help you out, Natasha is Claire's best friend and she is dating Michael, whom you haven't met. He was beaten up pretty badly by Natasha's ex-boyfriend Stuart (AKA Stubby) at one of his parties. Stubby was also the guy picking on Brian in chapter four. Helpful references: Chapters 1, 3, 4, and 22.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-nine: Unspoken Questions

* * *

Claire took another sip of her vanilla milkshake and stared down at the plastic, fake granite table in front of her. God, it was so tacky. It wasn't as though they were fooling anyone into believing it was real. Wood. That would have been better than plastic. At least wood was-

"So, come on. Spit it out."

Claire glanced up at Natasha. "Spit what out?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "This dumb redhead thing you've got going may work on some people, but it sure as hell doesn't work on me. You know I want details."

Claire sighed as if irritated with the request. Secretly, however, she was dying to tell her everything. "What do you want to know?"

"Uh, everything," said Natasha, as though this was obvious.

"Well, Mr. Waverly let me out of third period early to run errands for Miss Lucas and I ran into him in the hallway."

Natasha furrowed her brow thoughtfully. "Third period." Suddenly, she laughed. "No wonder he never came back."

Claire froze uncertainly. "What do you mean?"

"He's in my history class third period. He was asleep for a while, but then he asked to use the bathroom pass and never came back." She laughed again. "Mr. Petruzzi was wondering if he'd ever see his pass again."

Claire allowed herself a small smile. "He probably won't."

Natasha shook her head. "So, what happened next?"

Claire shrugged. "We made up."

"You mean you made out."

Claire flushed. "No. I mean, we kissed. Or, he kissed me. But it wasn't like we were groping against the lockers or anything."

"That's a shame."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Why do you always ask me so many questions anyway? You never tell me about what you and Michael do when you go out."

Natasha took a bite of her chicken nugget. "What do you want to know?"

What did she want to know? They'd never really talked about stuff like that until Claire started meeting up with John. Natasha was a fairly private person and Claire had always felt uncomfortable discussing these things. "Well… have you…"

"No."

"Oh." Claire paused. "Have you ever done it with anyone else?"

Natasha hesitated. "Yeah."

Claire's mouth dropped open. "With who?"

Natasha clenched her jaw. "Stuart."

"Stubby?" Claire shook her head. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Natasha shrugged. "It only happened once."

Claire didn't really know what to say to that. "Did he force you?" she asked quietly.

Natasha glanced up, surprised. "No, why?"

"I don't know. You just seem… upset about it."

"I'm not upset with him. I'm just mad at myself, I guess. I didn't really want to. I just did it because I thought I was supposed to." She shrugged. "But that was a long time ago."

"Is that why you broke up with him?"

Natasha shook her head. "No, we were just too different."

Claire scoffed. "Yeah, he's a jerk and you're not."

"He's not a jerk."

Claire looked up at her, confused. "He beat up Michael for no reason at all. He steals people's lunches and threatens the freshman. He's not a nice person."

Natasha thought about this for a moment. "He didn't used to be like that."

"What did he used to be like?"

Natasha shrugged. "He was sweet. He'd bring me cookies in class and tell me stupid jokes to cheer me up when my dad called."

Claire couldn't imagine Stubby doing any of those things, but she didn't say that. "What changed?"

"I don't know."

Claire paused. "Why didn't you tell me about all of this before?"

Natasha shrugged and took a sip of her Coke. "You never asked."

Claire sat back in the booth, a little bit stunned and a little bit ashamed. She'd never asked. It was true. She and Natasha had talked about a lot of things, like which color shirt was better with Natasha's complexion, how Claire could layer eye shadow for a more dramatic look, who Amy was crushing on that week. She knew about the serious stuff, like Natasha's parents' divorce, but somehow it had always taken a back seat to larger, more important things like shopping and parties. Claire looked at Natasha, who was staring out of the window next to them, and wondered how much was going on in her friends' lives that she never even knew about. Never knew because she was too self-centered to ask.

* * *

Brian's mother picked him up after school on Monday. His sister was sitting in the front seat, so he climbed into the back. His mother glanced at him through the rearview mirror after pulling away from the curb. "How was your day?"

Brian thought back to the guys making fun of him in his shop class, then to the prospect of possibly failing said class. "Uh, fine."

"Did you talk to your teachers?"

Brian nodded. "Um, yeah. They said that they would help me out when it came to tests and stuff and that I just do what I can for the homework. Like use a typewriter or something."

"What about math and science?"

"Mr. McIntyre said that I can come in after school or during lunch and he'd, you know, he'd help me out."

He could see his mother nodding from the front seat. "Good."

"They also said that anything I couldn't get done I could just turn in when I got the cast removed since, you know, they know they can trust me."

Mrs. Johnson nodded again. "It's a good thing you've been working so hard all these years. I'm sure they wouldn't allow just anyone to do that."

Brian didn't really know what to say to that. "Yeah."

"But I don't want you putting everything off until the end. Finals are going to be hard enough without all that extra work."

"Yeah, I know. I… I promise I will."

"Good." Mrs. Johnson smiled at her son through the rearview mirror. Well, it wasn't a smile, really, but it wasn't a frown either. Something in between. Whatever it was, he took it as a good sign.

When they arrived back at the house, Brian took out his Latin book and started going over vocabulary words. Leah sat down next to him at the dining room table and spread her markers out in front of her like a fan. Their mother started taking food out of the refrigerator for dinner. After a few minutes, Brian felt something touching his cast. He looked up to see Leah leaning across the table to get a better look at what other people had done, tracing her fingers over the words and pictures. "What does this say?"

Brian looked at the place she was pointing at. "That's Larry's name."

"Oh." Leah giggled. "And who drew this?"

Brian sighed. The only thing worse than having rainbows and flowers on his cast was having a detailed drawing of Darth Vader. "David."

Leah smiled, blushing slightly. "I like it."

Brian rolled his eyes. "I'm sure." He waited for Leah to grow bored with his cast and get back to her own drawing, but she kept her eyes locked onto the pictures, running her fingers over Darth Vader's helmet.

"You know what I'm going to be when I grow up?" she whispered.

"What?"

Leah looked up at him and grinned. "An artist."

Brian looked at her for a moment before glancing over at their mother, who was chopping up carrots. With a pot of water boiling on the stove, she couldn't hear anything they were saying. He looked at Leah again, but she had abandoned his cast and returned to her own drawing of their cat, Snowball. He watched her color for a couple of minutes, wondering vaguely what their mother would have said about Leah's dream if she'd heard them talking.

After a moment, Brian looked away from the picture and went back to his Latin book.

* * *

Andy kept his eyes focused on the far wall as he made laps around the gym. He didn't make eye contact with any of his teammates, partially because it was hard to do that while running in circle and partially because he felt that he might end up doing something stupid if he did.

Most of the time, the boys ran in pairs. Andy and John didn't usually run together since John was so much taller than his friend, but he could always count on John to make goofy faces or obscene gestures at their coach behind his back just to make Andy laugh. Not anymore. On Monday, John's expression was almost harder than Andy's.

"Five more minutes! Everybody start cooling down!"

Andy dropped down to a slow jog, then finally a quick walk. A few minutes later, Coach blew the whistle and dismissed them to the showers. "Get the hell outta here."

Andy took his time getting back to the locker room. He took a long drink of water from the fountain next to the door. He hesitated for only a moment before pushing it open and walking in.

The room, which was quiet already, became even quieter when Andy strode down the aisle towards his locker. The other wrestlers pretended that they weren't staring, but he could feel their eyes on him as he turned the dial on his lock and popped open the door. When he turned back around, a couple of boys glanced away sheepishly and started making light conversation with their neighbor.

Andy sat down on the bench and started untying his shoelaces. Just as he was about to take off his shoes, John appeared at the end of the aisle about ten feet away. His jaw was clenched, his expression blank and his eyes hard and steady. Andy knew him well enough to know what he was thinking. _What's it gonna be? How do you want this to end?_

Andy glared at him as silence descended all around them. He picked up his gym bag and, ignoring the fact that his locker was hanging wide open and that his shoes were untied, stood and walked as quickly as he could down the aisle and out of the locker room door. He burst into the hallway outside of the gym, hot and tired and angry as hell. He took a few steps toward the door leading to the student parking lot before he realized that he wasn't alone.

"Hi."


	40. Unspoken Answers

A/N: Thank you for reading. : )

* * *

Chapter Forty: Unspoken Answers

* * *

Bender chose his route home very carefully on Monday afternoon. Though he was pretty sure that Andy's henchmen wouldn't come after him again so soon, he wanted to be on the safe side. So instead of cutting through the athletic fields, he went through the front of the building and kept to the streets until he came to the neighborhood that he always cut through on the way to his house. The plan worked; no one bothered him.

By the time he got back to his own neighborhood, Bender was starting to feel good about his day. Not only had he engaged his teachers in some interesting conversations, but he'd also made up with Claire. It was actually more fun for him than he expected it to be, even if she was so predictable. Thinking back, he could still feel the way his hand fit into the curve of her waist, how soft the skin was on her neck, especially in that little, tiny spot where he could feel her pulse running rapidly under the light pressure of his lips. It wasn't like she was the first girl he'd ever enjoyed kissing. Not even close. But there was something so incredibly appealing about her that made him want to keep kissing her and kissing her just because of the way she responded to him.

Up ahead, across the street from the park, there was an auto garage that Bender passed everyday on his way home from school. Sometimes he would go in for a few minutes and say hello to his friends that worked there, but on Monday he wasn't so sure he wanted to. He and Roger hadn't spoken since their fight on Saturday night and Bender didn't know what they would say to one another if they were in the same room. Probably nothing since Roger was so quiet and Bender wasn't very good at all of that emotional stuff. Then again, they couldn't avoid each other forever. Before he could stop himself, Bender started up the driveway and into the garage.

Tom, the owner, was talking with a customer in his office but gave Bender a quick nod from behind the glass door. Bender glanced around the shop, but no one else was around and the only noise was coming from a small stereo in the corner. Cream's 'Born Under a Bad Sign' was playing, but quietly, and he walked over to turn it up. Just as he'd adjusted it to his liking, the door leading to the back room opened and Roger walked in, stopping short when he saw his friend. Bender stepped away from the stereo. "Hey."

Roger sighed and picked up a rag from a nearby table to wipe his hands. "Hey."

Bender cleared his throat. "Just thought I'd stop by."

Roger nodded, but didn't say anything else. Bender tried to think of something that would break the ice, but came up dry. What the hell was he supposed to say anyway? _Gee, Rog. I'm sorry I almost did the Coke the other night. Thanks for rescuing me. And embarrassing me. And treating me like a three year old. _No, he didn't see that going over too well.

Roger must have picked up on Bender's discomfort because he threw the rag back onto the table and looked at him. "Did you go to school today?"

Bender glanced down at his shoes, then back up again. Breaking eye contact was a sign of weakness, wasn't it? "Yeah."

Pause. "How'd it go?"

"Like, totally awesome." Roger lifted his eyebrows doubtfully and Bender rolled his eyes. "That was a joke."

"I figured."

Bender eyed him warily, trying to decide whose turn it was next. Before he could come to any conclusions, the door to the back room swung open and Jerry stepped into the room, a can of Coke dangling from one hand. Bender knew that Jerry hated Cokes, but drank them because they helped disguise all of the alcohol he consumed throughout the day. Most of the workers at the garage knew that he did it, but Jerry still believed that he had everyone fooled. "Bender, man! What the fuck are you doin' here?"

"Just thought I'd stop by to say hello." Bender glanced over at Roger, who had his back to Jerry and wasn't moving an inch. Roger clenched his jaw and kept his eyes focused on the far wall, refusing to turn around and look at his drunken co-worker.

"Well, hello, hello." Jerry laughed at his own lame joke, oblivious to the obvious tension that his presence caused between the other two. He grinned stupidly at Bender, then went over to the radio to change the station. Roger looked at Bender and their eyes met for a moment, Roger's bright with anger. Who it was directed at, Bender didn't know, but he wasn't sure he wanted to find out either. He pushed past Roger and clapped Jerry on the shoulder. "I'm gonna let you two get back to work."

Jerry laughed. "Aw, hell, you ain't botherin' me."

Bender took a deep breath, not daring to look at Roger. "I'll see you later."

Jerry shrugged. "Later."

Without another word to his friend, Bender walked down the driveway and out of the garage.

* * *

Allison leaned against the cold brick wall, tapping the toes of her shoes together in a made-up rhythm. It would be nice to have some music to listen to while she waited. Anything really. She was so desperate for something to distract her from herself that she'd even settle for Culture Club right then… and that was really saying something.

Allison glanced over at her knapsack, which was bulkier and heavier than ever after her new additions. Actually, it was in a perpetual state of 'heavier than ever' since she was continually adding new things and never taking the older stuff out. She lifted the flap and dug around inside until she found what she was looking for. She didn't remove the underwear or the jock strap from the bag since she really didn't want to touch them anymore than she had to (and was mildly disgusted that they were probably contaminating the rest of her things), but for some bizarre reason she did want to see them.

Why had she taken them anyway? It was as much a mystery to her as it would be to anyone else. Part of it had to do with her anger about what they'd done to John. The other, larger part had absolutely nothing to do with them at all. She'd been stealing other people's things since she was nine. At first, it was because she actually wanted the things she took, but eventually it became a habit, and an addictive one at that. There was something incredibly thrilling about taking something that belonged to someone else, almost like taking a part of them. And when you don't really have anyone to begin with, little pieces of strangers are better than nothing.

Allison sighed and closed her bag again. Without warning, the locker room door flung open and Andy stepped out into the hall, his face contorted with anger. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt and his hair was a mess. He had sweat dripping into his eyes and his face was flushed with exertion. Allison couldn't decide if she wanted to throw herself into his arms or run for her life.

When Andy saw her, he stopped short, his expression softening from anger to mild confusion. She rose to her feet. "Hi."

Andy eyed her warily. "Hi."

Neither of them said anything for a moment, Allison because she was scared to death and Andy because he wasn't supposed to. Allison forced herself to keep breathing. "I talked to Claire."

Andy knew what she meant by that and nodded. "I misunderstood," she said simply.

Andy let out a soft, mirthless chuckle. "You're not the only one."

"But I know now."

He watched her closely, not saying anything else. She took another deep breath. "I was thinking about what you'd said in detention."

"About what?"

Allison clenched her jaw. "About how John didn't even count, that it didn't matter if he really existed or not…" She felt her voice catch in her throat a bit. "…that it wouldn't make any difference if he disappeared forever."

Andy wiped his face with his hand and looked down at the floor. Allison observed him patiently, knowing that this was hard for him, too. For a minute, she could almost feel what was going on inside of him: the guilt, the anger, the regret. She wanted to go up to him and wrap her arms around his shoulders, bury her face in the curve of his neck. Instead, she waited until he looked up from the floor and into her eyes.

"Do you still feel that way?"

Andy shook his head.

"What about…" She swallowed and tried again. "Do you-"

"No." Andy shook his head determinedly. "Not about you."

Allison felt a wave of relief flow through her, threatening to knock her over from the inside out. "Okay," she whispered, taking another deep breath. She hesitated for a moment before taking a few steps towards him, stopping when she was standing only a couple of inches away. She stood up on her tiptoes and leaned forward, bringing her mouth against his. He let her kiss him, but didn't reach out to touch her. They both knew it was her turn.

After a few seconds, Allison wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him completely, letting him support her weight. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, his mouth never leaving hers. She felt the pressure of his hands against the small of her back, the sweat from his neck on her fingertips. Her stomach was twisted into a millions knots, but somehow it was okay. Somehow she knew it was supposed to be that way.

After a minute, Andy pulled back a little bit. "We should probably…"

Allison glanced at the locker room door. "Yeah."

"It's not you, it's…"

"I know."

Andy paused, then nodded. "Okay." Then he took her hand and they walked out of the building.


	41. Breakfast

A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you are enjoying the story. If you want to offer any suggestions or constructive criticism, then please review. Thanks!

* * *

Chapter Forty-one: Breakfast

* * *

Allison woke up on Tuesday morning just as the first rays of the sun became visible over the rooftops of the houses nearby. She crawled out of bed and took her time getting ready for school, changing into her olive green skirt (who cares what Claire said? She thought it was a color) and a simple white shirt. She put on a little bit of mascara and Chapstick, then brushed her hair and pulled it back with Claire's headband. There. Not so bad.

Allison's father was already in the kitchen by the time she got downstairs. He was staring out of the window above the sink, where he had a clear view of… well, nothing. Somehow she knew that wasn't the point. "Good morning."

Mr. Reynolds jerked his head up, startled. When he saw that it was his daughter, he gave her a tight smile. "Good morning."

Allison stood stiffly in the doorway while he refilled his coffee thermos for the drive to work. When he finished, he looked up at her. "Are you ready to go?"

Allison ignored the question. "Where's mom?"

Mr. Reynolds glanced nervously in the direction of the bedroom he shared with his wife. "She's… not feeling well today. Just some kind of stomach bug."

Allison nodded. They both knew he was lying and they both knew that the other person knew that they knew, but neither of them were willing to point that out. If they did, it might disrupt the delicate balance they'd worked so hard to create over the years and, to Allison, that might almost be worse than having her own father ignore her.

Allison adjusted her knapsack and moved towards the back door, which led to the garage. Mr. Reynolds grabbed his briefcase from the counter and they walked out to the car together, with Allison pulling her parka around her even tighter to fend off the cold. Her father turned on the heater, but it was more for him than her since, by the time it started working, they were always so close to school that she hardly benefited from it. When he pulled up to the curb in front of the school, Allison grabbed her bag quickly and pushed open the door. Before she could get all of the way out, her father spoke. "Allison."

Allison turned and waited. He cleared his throat nervously. "What time is your appointment again?"

Allison swallowed. "Four."

He nodded. "Well… have a good day."

Allison clenched her jaw and got out of the car. She started to close the door, but changed her mind and ducked her head back inside of the vehicle. Her father glanced up at her hopefully and she sighed. "You, too."

Without waiting for him to respond, Allison shut the door and ran into the building.

* * *

Andy woke up on Tuesday morning and dressed quickly, throwing on a long sleeve t-shirt and a pair of jeans. By the time he got into the kitchen, his parents were already there eating breakfast. His mother turned from the stove and gave him a smile. "Morning, sweetie."

"Morning," Andy grumbled as he pulled out a chair. Like his father, who was already seated at the table scarfing down eggs, he wasn't much of a morning person. Andy poured himself a glass of milk, then heaped a large pile of eggs and about seven pieces of bacon onto his plate.

"What do you have going on today?"

Andy looked up at his mother. "Nothing, just practice." He glanced over at his father, but he was too busy with his eggs to comment.

A few minutes later, Nicole walked in and plopped down into the chair next to her brother. Her long blonde hair was up in a high ponytail and she had glittery earrings dangling from her earlobes. Andy gave her a sideways glance, but she just glared at him. "What?"

"Who are you supposed to be? Flashdance Barbie?"

Nicole clenched her jaw, but he could see her face turning pink. "It's called fashion. Not that you would know anything about that."

Andy scoffed. "Gee, you really got me there. Right where it hurts, too."

Nicole just sneered at him and looked away. Their mother turned off the stove and brought an extra plate of bacon to the table before sitting down. "Do you want a plate, honey?"

Nicole shook her head. "No, I'm not hungry." She glanced at her watch, then her father. "Can we _go_ now? I promised Ashley I'd meet her there early today."

Mr. Clark glanced up from his plate. "Can I finish my breakfast first?"

Nicole rolled her eyes and slumped back down in her seat. Andy could see his mother taking in her daughter's choice of clothing and accessories for the day. "Where did you get that shirt?"

Nicole pulled nervously at the hem. "Becky."

"Who's Becky?"

"Just a girl from school."

"Well, it's too short. I don't want you wearing it."

Nicole's mouth dropped open. "Why not?"

"Because it's way too revealing. And I don't care for those earrings very much either."

"What, are they too revealing, too?"

Mr. Clark looked up from his eggs. "Don't talk back to your mother."

Nicole squared her jaw. "I don't _want_ to change."

"Well, you don't have a choice."

Nicole waved her hand wildly in Andy's direction. "That's not fair! Have you seen some of the girls he's brought home? Their shorts are so short, they might as well be underwear."

"Hey!" Andy exclaimed. "That's not true!"

Nicole scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Andy settled back into his chair, glaring at his sister. She was sort of right. He was not by any means what some would call a serial dater, but he'd gone out with his fair share of girls, most of them from the cheerleading squad or the drill team. A lot of them dressed to impress, which usually meant showing as much skin as possible without crossing the line into "cheap" territory. The only true exception was Kathryn, the starting pitcher for the Shermer High School softball team and the only girl he knew that wore jeans to school everyday. It was the only relationship that he remembered with any real fondness or clarity, mainly because she was the only girl he'd dated that actually understood the physical and emotional sacrifices that athletes make for their sports. Then there was Allison, who wasn't like anyone he'd ever _met_, much less dated. Allison, with her oversized parka and beat up sneakers and tangled hair. Allison, with her cluttered knapsack and disgusting eating habits. Allison, whose come-hither gaze involved spitting her fingernails at people and whose idea of a pick up line was "Eat shit."

Andy tuned back into the argument unfolding in front of him just as his mother's voice started hardening, a sure sign that she was getting angry. "You're too young to be wearing something like that, Nicole."

"I'm going to be fourteen next week!"

"I _said_… go change."

Nicole glared at her mother for a moment before rising from the table and stalking off to her room. As she left, Andy could hear her muttering under her breath. "This family is so cracked."

Andy sighed. For once, he and his sister actually agreed on something.

* * *

When Brian walked into the kitchen on Tuesday morning, his father and sister were already sitting at the kitchen table eating eggs and toast while his mother washed dishes at the sink. Brian took a seat and poured himself a glass of orange juice.

Mr. Johnson put down the newspaper he was reading and smiled at his son. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah. I didn't-"

Suddenly, the phone rang. Leah jumped up to get it, but Brian was too quick for her. "_I'll_ get it this time."

Leah shrugged and returned to her toast and jelly (more the latter than the former) and Brian grabbed the phone on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Brian?"

"Uh, yeah. Hi, David."

"Hey! Listen, I'm picking you up for school today, alright?"

Brian narrowed his eyes. "It's okay. My Dad's going to take me."

"Well, tell him not to. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes? David, I really don't-"

Before he could finish, David hung up the phone. Brian sighed and put it back in its cradle. "Um, David's picking me up today."

"Okay." Brian's father glanced at his watch. "We'd better be going. You ready, sweetheart?"

Leah nodded and hopped down from her chair, then went into the living room for her backpack. Brian's father went over to give his wife a kiss goodbye, whispering something into her ear. She nodded, then kissed him on the cheek just as Leah reappeared, dragging her tiny pink backpack on the floor behind her. Mr. Johnson collected his things and helped her out the door, waving at his son before closing it behind him. Brian sat back down in his chair and grabbed a piece of toast.

"Do you have any tests today?"

Brian swallowed before answering. "Um, yeah. It's for Latin, but it's an oral exam and it's multiple choice, so I can take it, you know, like I normally would."

Brian's mother nodded and wiped her hands on a dish towel. Brian waited for her to say something else, but she didn't. She finished putting the dishes away, then came up to Brian and patted him on the shoulder. "I'm going to get ready to leave. Do good on your test."

"Um, thanks." Brian watched her leave the room, then reached for the last piece of toast on the plate in the center of the table. He'd almost finished it when he heard a car honk outside. He went into the living room for his backpack, then walked out of the front door, closing it behind him. When he finally turned towards the street, he was so surprised by what he saw that he dropped the last bit of his toast on the front porch.

It was David alright, but his father was nowhere in sight… and neither was Mr. Anderson's cherry red Firebird. In its place was a shiny, black Camaro that had to be brand new.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

Brian looked up at David, who was standing in front of the car with a gigantic grin on his face. Brian walked up to the car, never taking his eyes off of the sparkling paint job. "Yeah, of course. Whose is it?"

"Mine," David said as though it should be obvious. " Look at this, Brian. It's got-"

Brian held up his hand to stop him. "Wait, I'm sorry. This is _your_ car?"

"Yeah. My Dad gave it to me yesterday. Sort of a late birthday present. Anyway, look at the seats. They're so comfortable."

Brian took a few steps forward, poking his head into the passenger side window. The inside of the car was spotless: leather seating, sleek side paneling. Brian couldn't peel his eyes away. It was the most perfect vehicle he'd ever seen in his entire life. "I can't believe it's _yours_."

"I know. Isn't it awesome?" David glanced at his watch. "Anyway, we'd better go. We still have to pick up Larry."

Brian nodded mutely and opened the passenger side door. He put his backpack on the floor and settled into the seat as David climbed in next to him and started the engine. As they started down Brian's street, David reached over and turned on the radio, letting Don Henley's 'Dirty Laundry' pour out of the speakers.

"So, we're supposed to help Mr. McIntyre hang up posters today, right?"

Brian tore his eyes away from the dashboard and glanced over at his friend. He found it quite amazing that David could focus on anything school related when he was the proud owner of a brand new 1984 Chevy Camaro. "Um, yeah. I think so."

"Where's Allison gonna eat?"

Brian shrugged. "I don't know. She'd only been eating with us for a few days. I'm sure she'll just go wherever she ate before."

David nodded and pulled onto Larry's street. He honked the horn, but didn't get out of the car this time. A couple of minutes later, Larry came outside and locked the door behind him. When he saw the car, he stopped, confused. After a minute, he glanced up and down the street, presumably for David's father's car. David laughed. "Roll down the window."

Brian did as he was told and David leaned over to shout out the window. "Hey!"

Larry looked back at the car, his mouth dropping open in surprise. "What is this?"

"It's a car, you idiot. Get in or we're gonna be late."

The Camaro was a two-door, so Brian had to get out so that Larry could climb into the backseat. When Brian was back inside the car, David pulled away from the curb and glanced at Larry through the rearview mirror. "Cool, huh?"

"I'll say. Is it your Dad's?"

"No, it's mine."

Brian heard a gagging sound from the backseat. It actually sounded a lot like Snowball trying to cough up a hairball. He glanced back in time to see Larry clear his throat and sit up straight. "Yours?" he squeaked.

David nodded. "It was a gift from my Dad."

"No, really," Larry said sarcastically. He ran his hand over the soft leather seat. "God, it's so beautiful."

David beamed. "I know, isn't it? Now we just have to come up with a cool name for it."

Brian laughed. That was such a David thing to do. "What about Fluffy?"

David nodded thoughtfully for a moment. "That could work, but I was thinking of something a little more masculine, you know?"

Brian rolled his eyes as they pulled into the student parking lot. His window was still rolled down from when they'd arrived at Larry's house, but he didn't roll it back up right away. David parked the car next to a white Buick LaSabre and jumped out. Brian followed suit and pulled the seat forward for Larry, who tumbled out from the back rather ungracefully. Brian looked around to see that more than a few people were watching them, admiring the car. He felt his pulse racing and his cheeks burning a little bit at the attention, but squared his shoulders and looked away. It was kind of embarrassing to have people staring at them, but it also felt good to have someone be jealous of him for once.

The boys started walking into the building, basking in their newfound coolness. Just before they entered the building, Larry slowed down just a bit and pulled Brian back to walk with him. He leaned towards Brian and spoke quietly. "So, what do you think?"

"It's awesome."

Larry smirked. "Worth a spleen?"

Brian couldn't keep the grin off of his face. "Definitely."


	42. Understanding

A/N: This chapter is in honor of TWbasketcase, who I have been torturing (irritating?) by keeping her two favorite characters apart. It's been a long time coming, but I hope it was worth it.

* * *

Chapter Forty-two: Understanding

* * *

It wasn't until Allison reached the cafeteria at lunchtime that she remembered that Brian and the boys were away doing something for the Math Club. She'd only been sitting with them for a few days but she was already having trouble remembering what it was like to eat alone. It felt so natural to plop down next to Brian and offer Larry her cereal and listen to David crack jokes. It was a foreign, but not unpleasant, feeling, knowing that there were people who would miss her if she didn't show up.

So Allison ended up back in her tree again. The squirrels greeted her by darting up and down the center, snatching sunflower seeds from the tiny pile she'd left near the trunk. She ate her grapes and watched them play for a few minutes before realizing that she was actually kind of bored without anyone to talk to. Weird.

She was trying to figure out how many grapes she could fit in her mouth all at once (she was up to eleven) when she spotted Bender coming out of the front entrance to the school. He walked along the perimeter of the building and around the corner, presumably headed for the t-shacks that were situated along the side of the building. Allison tried to call out to him, but her mouth was so full of grapes that it came out as more of a muffled squeak, which he apparently didn't hear since he kept walking. So, Allison did the only thing she could do. She reached into her bag, pulled out a handful of grapes and threw it in his direction.

Not all of the grapes hit their mark, but a couple of them did. Bender jumped in surprise, looking around wildly for his hidden assailant. Allison giggled, but the grapes in her mouth were still keeping her quiet. She put the bag aside and climbed down from the tree, coming face to face with a very confused John Bender.

"What the fuck was that for?"

Allison squeaked in response, but Bender just narrowed his eyes in confusion. Allison sighed and started chewing on the grapes in her mouth. She was hoping that she'd be able to finish her experiment, but she probably didn't have enough grapes left anyway after using them all on Bender. When she finally finished chewing, she opened her mouth to show him that they were gone.

Bender's eyes widened. "You're so fuckin' weird, you know that?"

Allison was unfazed. "I just wanted to say hi."

"Hi."

"You want to sit with me?"

Bender glanced over at the tree, then back at her. "I don't know. Do you have any more grapes?"

Allison nodded.

"Do you promise not to throw them at me?"

Again, Allison nodded.

Bender shrugged. "Yeah, okay."

The sat down under the tree, Bender leaning against the trunk and Allison sitting a couple of feet away, legs tucked up underneath her. Bender took out a pack of cigarettes and removed one of the sticks. "You mind?"

Allison shook her head and tossed the last couple of grapes into her mouth. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Bender smoked his cigarette and Allison started in on her cereal. "So, do you eat out here everyday?"

Allison shook her head. "Not anymore. I eat with Brian and his friends."

"With Brainiac?" Bender smirked. "Do you guys talk about physics together?"

"No."

"Not even… _properties_ of physics?"

Allison glared at him. "They talk about other things, too."

Bender lifted his eyebrows doubtfully and took another drag on his cigarette. Allison huffed and settled back onto her heels, stuffing another handful of cereal into her mouth. Bender finished off the cigarette and stubbed it out on the tree root next to him, then tucked the pack into the pocket of his jacket. When he looked up, there was a bag of cereal dangling in front of his face. "Want some?"

Bender hesitated, then stuck his hand in, removing a small handful. He leaned back against the trunk of the tree, eying her warily and eating the cereal very slowly, one piece at a time. "So, what's your damage anyway?"

Allison stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why are you like… _you_?"

Allison paused, choosing her words carefully. "I didn't _decide_ anything."

Bender waited for her to finish, but she didn't. "So, who did?"

Allison looked him in the eye. "If you want to know so bad, why don't you go read my file? I'm sure it's all in there."

Bender smirked. "Where's the file?"

"Guidance counselor's office. He takes extensive notes."

"Who, Hashpipe?" Bender scoffed. "Yeah, I know."

"You know him?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"Same way you do." He gave her a sideways glance. "Unless you're screwin' him, too. Cause then it's definitely _not_ in the same way."

"Why do they make you see him?"

Bender let out a mirthless chuckle. "I think the term they used was 'deviant behavior'." He shook his head. "Pull a couple of fire alarms and suddenly you're a fuckin' head case."

"A couple?"

Bender glared at her. "It might have been six. I wasn't counting."

"Is that the worst thing you've ever done?"

Bender scoffed. "No. They've been trackin' me for years. The file on me is so thick it probably requires its own separate filing cabinet."

Allison shook her head. "No, I would have noticed that."

Bender smirked. "That's right. I forgot you live there."

"Just like you live in detention."

Bender nodded thoughtfully. "Well, when your house ain't a home, you're forced to make other arrangements, you know what I'm saying?"

Allison didn't say anything to that, but she didn't need to. It was clear that she and John Bender had more in common than either of them had realized.

* * *

Andy stood in the doorway of the cafeteria, looking out over the rows of tables. He couldn't have stood there for more than twenty seconds, but already one thing was abundantly clear: he had nowhere to sit.

He'd realized early in the day that it wasn't going to be that easy to avoid John or any of the other wrestlers. For one, he still had practice together… twice a day. His coach had allowed him to train solo in the weight room during third period, but he couldn't ask to do that everyday. Eventually, he'd have to face John but until then, he was going to do his best to stay out of his way and obviously that meant that he couldn't sit at the wrestling table. So what were his options? He could eat at Brian and Allison's table. He would feel comfortable sitting with the two of them, but he knew that he wouldn't feel the same way about Larry. Even though he'd apologized, he was pretty sure that the guy still hated his guts and, honestly, he didn't really blame him. So, where did that leave him? Pretty much nowhere, except for maybe the bathroom. Did people really do that?

He was about to find out when he suddenly spotted Claire sitting at a table in the middle of the room, surrounded by her friends. Andy let out a sigh of relief and walked over. "Hi."

Claire glanced up, surprised. "Hi."

A few of the girls looked up and smiled at him. "Hi, Andy!" exclaimed one of the cheerleaders.

Andy nodded politely at the girls, then glanced back at Claire. She pulled her purse off of the space next to her and scooted over a bit. "Here."

Andy sat down on bench and let out a deep breath. He looked over at Claire, who was watching him closely. "Thanks," he said.

Claire smiled sadly. "You're welcome."

* * *

Bender sighed and pulled another match from the box at his feet. He struck it against the bottom of his boot and held it out in front of him. "Just do it really fast. It won't burn you."

Allison let out a little squeak of fear, then leaned forward tentatively, her hand hovering in the air a few inches from the match. She swiped her finger through the air quickly, but it never touched the fire, ending up about an inch of two above it. Allison looked up at Bender, grinning. "It didn't hurt at all!"

Bender rolled his eyes. "That's because you didn't touch it." He ran his fingers through the flames a few times as an example, then blew out the match. "See?"

Allison sighed with frustration. "I want to try it again."

Bender picked up the box and lit a new match. He held it up in front of him and watched her face harden with determination. She reached out and brushed her fingers over the match, this time through the flame, then jumped back, tucking her hand against her stomach.

Bender's eyes widened. "Did that hurt?"

Allison grinned. "No!"

Bender started laughing despite himself. "I told you." He tucked his matches back into his jacket pocket and leaned against the tree trunk again. He watched her for a minute before asking the question he'd been wanting to ask since he first sat down. "So, what's the deal with you and Sporto?"

Allison blushed. "I don't know. We're just… _seeing_ each other."

Bender let out an angry breath. "He's such a fuckin' prick. I don't see why."

Allison's eyes softened. "No, he's not."

Bender felt the anger rising up in his chest. "He's a coward. He sent his friends after me. Did you know that?"

Allison shook her head. "No, he didn't. He didn't even know it happened until yesterday."

Bender narrowed his eyes at her. "Is that what he said?"

Allison looked him in the eye. "It's the truth."

Bender shook his head in disbelief. "No. He's lying. He had to know."

"Why?"

"Because they wouldn't have come after me if he hadn't told them."

Allison paused thoughtfully. "I don't know why they did it, but it wasn't because he told them to."

Bender watched her carefully, trying to see if she was lying or not. It was very clear that _she_ believed Andy was telling the truth, regardless of what actually happened. He sighed. "Whatever. I just need my knife back. Then I can go on with my fuckin' life and he can go on with his."

Allison looked up at him, startled. "What?"

"I said I don't care about him anymore. I just want my knife back."

Allison swallowed deeply, then reached for her knapsack. She dug around inside for a moment before pulling her hand out, fingers closed in a fist. Then she reached out, opened her hand and dropped a small switchblade onto the ground in front of his feet.

Bender snatched up the knife from the ground. "Did he give this to you?"

"No."

"Then where'd you get it?"

Allison hesitated. "I took it from you in detention."

Bender's eyes went wide with shock. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Allison didn't answer, just reached back into her bag and pulled out a combination lock. Bender grabbed it from her. "That's my lock!"

"I know."

He glared at her. "Why did you do that? I've been lookin' for this shit all week."

Allison shrugged. "They were just there."

"Oh, so you thought you'd just steal them from me."

"I didn't steal them!" Allison's face burned with embarrassment. "I just wanted them."

"Do you do stuff like that all of the time?"

"Sometimes."

"Why?"

Allison looked at him closely, sizing him up. "It just feels good to take things. I don't know why, but it does."

Bender could feel himself softening just a bit. "What do you do with it all?"

She patted her knapsack. "Most of it's in here."

Bender's eyes widened. "You carry it _around _with you?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Because that's a lot of shit to be draggin' around with you everyday."

Allison looked hurt at this. "I may need it someday… I needed your knife."

Bender shrank back in surprise. "For what? Animal sacrifices?"

"No." She paused. "I keep them because if I ever need to leave, I'll have everything I need."

Bender paused, surprised. "Why would you need to leave?"

Allison just looked at him, not opening her mouth to say anything. After a moment, she looked away, staring off into the distance. Bender knew that look. Hell, he'd perfected it. And if she didn't want to talk about it then he sure wasn't going to ask about it.

"I think about that kind of stuff, too."

Allison glanced up again. "You do?"

"Yeah, except I always figured the less stuff you had, the better. Nothin' to tie you down."

Allison just stared at him blankly for a moment, then nodded slowly. "That's _very_ interesting."

Inside of the building, the bell rang, dismissing the students to their fourth period classes. Bender and Allison stood up and started walking towards the building, a thoughtful silence hovering in the air between them. When they walked through the school's front entrance, the first person they saw was Vernon, who was standing just a few feet away from the door, straightening his tie. "Well, well. Look at what we have here."

Bender fought the urge to roll his eyes at Vernon's pitiful attempt at superiority. "Afternoon, Dick."

"What the hell were you two doing outside?"

Bender grinned knowingly. "I don't think it would be polite to talk about that here. Maybe later, when we can kick back in your office, have a couple of beers, talk man to man."

Vernon smiled ironically. "You think you're so smart, Bender, but I'm the one holding all of the cards here. I always am, in case you haven't noticed."

"We can play cards, too. But only if it's Go Fish because I love that game."

Vernon glared at Bender. "I can give you an another detention, you know. I can give you a _hundred_ detentions if I want to."

Bender lifted his eyebrows doubtfully. "_Do_ you want to?" When Vernon hesitated, he grinned. "Because I think that sounds like a great idea. I don't have much planned this summer, just the odd double homicide and armed robbery, and I _know_ that you don't have anything going on, so-"

"Shut up, Bender. Get to class." When Bender didn't move, Vernon reached over and gave him a shove. "Come on! Get going!"

Bender shrugged and started walking down the hall. He looked back at Allison, but she was trailing behind him, looking nervous and flushed. "What?"

Allison glanced back at Vernon, but he was already halfway down the hall, yelling at some poor freshman. She turned back to Bender and smirked. "So, how do you want to split it?"

Bender furrowed his brow in confusion. "Split what?"

Allison ignored him and reached into her knapsack. "You did distract him, but I did all of the dirty work."

"Dirty work?" he echoed.

"Yeah." She pulled out a dark brown wallet from her bag and grinned. "What do you say? Fifty-fifty?"


	43. The Girls' Bathroom

A/N: It might be helpful to remember that, as of right this moment, Brian and Bender have not yet crossed paths in this story.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Forty-three: The Girls' Bathroom

* * *

Claire glanced over at Andy, who was working on a bag of chocolate chip cookies and a carton of milk and staring at the far wall of the cafeteria, completely zoned out. She started to say something to him, but caught herself in time. _Let him have his moment of peace. It's not like he gets very many of them._

A few minutes later, the bell rang. Andy snapped to attention and looked down at the pile of crumbs in front of him. Claire put her silverware and plastic containers back into her lunch bag and stood up, looking over at Natasha. "Call me later?"

Natasha nodded and disappeared into the crowd. Claire waited for Andy to throw away his trash before the two of them started walking out of the cafeteria. Andy glanced over at Claire as they got to the hallway. "Hey, Claire?"

"Yes?"

Andy's face was blank, as though he was too tired to come up with a decent facial expression. "Can I eat with you tomorrow, too?"

Claire watched him closely. "Yeah, sure, but… what about John?"

Andy just shrugged. "I don't know. I don't want to have to think about it right now."

Claire nodded. "Okay. I'll see you later."

Andy nodded and started down the hall. Claire sighed and walked over to her locker, which was close by. She'd just started turning the dial when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hey, Claire."

Claire looked up. "Hi, Brian."

Brian grinned. "Hey, guess what. I talked to Mr. Waverly for you. You know, about extra credit for his class."

Claire nodded, not sure whether to be excited or not. "Oh, yeah, thanks. What's the assignment?"

Brian smiled even wider. "That's the best part! You get to go to the convention with us on Saturday!"

Claire felt all of the blood drain from her face. "Excuse me?"

Brian continued on excitedly. "It's with the Physics Club. On Saturday we're going to the Space Exploration and Technology convention in Chicago. It's going to be so cool because there'll be all of these booths set up, you know, with, like, pictures and models and new inventions and all of these astrophysicists are going to be talking about what it's like to live in space and what they're working on right now at NASA and they might even let us, like, touch some of the models or use them or something, but I don't know about that because maybe they're too valuable and they don't want them getting-"

"Wait, _that's_ my assignment?"

Brian nodded. "Yeah… and you have to write a short paper about your experience."

Claire couldn't really think of anything else to say. She'd been expecting something very different. A research paper, perhaps. Or maybe some extra homework assignments from the text. But going to a Space Exploration and… _whatever_ Convention with the Physics Club? Definitely not what she was hoping for.

"And he said he'll factor in an extra test grade if you decide to do it."

Claire looked up. "Really?"

Brian nodded. "An A."

Now, that was interesting. A perfect test grade; she could use one of those. "So, what time do I have to be there?"

"We meet here at 7:30."

Claire's eyes widened in surprise. "In the _morning_?"

Brian looked a little bit nervous. "Um, yeah, we leave at 8:00 and get back at 3:00... in the afternoon," he added.

Claire took a deep breath. "That's seven hours."

Brian hesitated. "Well, seven and a half, if you count the thirty minutes between the time you get to the school and the time we leave."

Claire thought about this for a moment. Seven hours of boredom for a free A? She'd have to be an idiot to say no. "Well… alright."

Brian grinned excitedly. "Really? Oh, that's so great. You're going to have so much fun. Here." He opened his backpack and pulled out a piece of paper. "Here's permission slip. You have to hand it in to Mr. Waverly by tomorrow."

Claire accepted the paper without looking at it. "Okay."

"And, um…I guess that's it."

Claire looked at him closely. He seemed so excited about it, so hopeful. The least she could do was say thank you. "Thanks, Brian. I'm sure it'll be really… fun."

Brian grinned. "Yeah, it will be. I'm so glad you're going."

Claire smiled wanly and held up the paper. "Well, I'll get this signed."

Brian nodded. "Okay, um… I guess I'll see you on Saturday then." He paused. "Well, I mean, I'm sure I'll see you before then, too, but I'll _definitely_ see-"

"I knew what you meant." Claire gave him a little smile. "And I'll see you on Saturday, too."

* * *

Brian gave Claire a small wave goodbye and started walking towards his next class, which was study hall. He couldn't help but be a little bit excited that she was going to the convention with them. Sure, it wasn't something she would choose to do on her own, but she seemed a little bit excited about it. _Only four more days and-_

Without warning, Brian was suddenly pushed against a row of lockers, his backpack providing a cushion for the blow. A hand reached out and grabbed the front of his navy sweater as Brian looked up at his attacker.

"Oh-"

"Do I look like I could be this man's son?" Bender held a small I.D. card up to his face and lifted his eyebrows expectantly.

Brian blinked, still trying to get his heart rate back to normal. "What?" He leaned forward to get a better look and when he realized what it was, his mouth dropped open in surprise. "That's Vernon's license! Where did you get that?"

"Found it in the girls' bathroom… which is a little strange, now that I think about it."

Brian's eyes grew wide. "What? Why was-"

"But, seriously, though." Bender snuck a sideways glance at the I.D. and grimaced. "Am I going to look this constipated when I get old?"

Brian didn't know what to say to that. "Um, I don't… I don't know."

But Bender wasn't paying attention anymore, just staring over Brian's shoulder and down the hallway. "Never mind. I gotta go." He clapped Brian on the shoulder as he brushed past. "Later, Dork."

Brian nodded, confused. "Yeah, um, later. It was… it was good to see you, too."

* * *

Claire was digging around in her locker when Bender walked up behind her and leaned in close to her ear. "Hey."

Claire jumped, dropping one of her books onto the floor. She looked up at him, eyes wide. "God, you scared me."

"Funny, I seem to have that effect on people."

Claire picked up her book from the floor and put it back in her locker, which was way more organized than his would ever be. Her textbooks were arranged neatly at the bottom while above them, on the top shelf, sat a small make up bag, a carton of pencils, and a stack of notebooks. Bender reached in and grabbed one of the textbooks.

"Hey!"

Bender ignored her and opened it up, reading the title page. "European Literature since 1800." He looked up at her and wrinkled his nose. "Is this for English?"

"No, it's for my European Lit class."

"I didn't know they had a class like that."

"It's an elective."

Bender gave her a horrified look. "So, you actually took it on purpose?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Yes."

"Jeez, that's sad. Sounds like something Brainiac would do. Maybe it's a sign. Like, maybe you're made for each other. Maybe you'll get married someday and have lots of little dork babies and then-"

Claire, who had turned a rather vibrant shade of pink at his suggestion, reached out and grabbed the book from him, replacing it in the correct place on the shelf. "What did you want, anyway?"

"Thought maybe we could skip."

Claire glared at him. "No."

"Why not? It'll be fun."

"Oh, yeah? Fun for whom?"

"Both of us. Come on, we'll do something you like to do this time. We'll read some shitty love poems to one another." Bender reached back into the locker to grab the European Literature book again, but Claire shut the locker door, nearly slamming it on his hand.

"I have to go to class," she said.

To illustrate her point, the bell rang, sending the last remaining students scurrying for their classroom. Claire groaned and started walking quickly down the hall.

"See, you're already late. You might as well just give up." Claire turned and glared at him, but he just smiled. "There's no sense going anywhere now. You're-"

"I can't skip class to go make out with you, John."

Bender shook his head sadly. "Claire, Claire. I am a lot more complex than you're giving me credit for. There are so many layers to me that you haven't even-"

Claire silenced him with a withering look, and Bender shrugged and kept walking beside her. As they turned the corner, Claire suddenly stopped, causing Bender to plow into her from behind. Not twenty feet down the hall, Vernon was stooped over the water fountain, taking a drink.

Claire gasped in shock, but Bender recovered much quicker. He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the girls' bathroom a few yards away.

As soon as the door closed, Claire yanked her hand away and looked up at him, eyes wide with shock. "What are you doing? You can't come in here!" she hissed.

Bender rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand again, dragging her into the back stall and locking the door behind him. She started to reopen it, but he pulled her hand away from the door. "Would you just stay put for a minute? I've done this before, alright?"

Claire hesitated, then released her hand from the lock with a sigh. "Fine."

They stood in silence, with Bender staring at Claire and Claire pretending not to notice. After a few minutes, Bender took a seat on the toilet and wove his fingers together against the back of his neck. Claire looked over at him, nose wrinkled in disgust. "What are you doing?"

Bender shrugged. "Well, I figured while I'm here I might as well-"

"That's disgusting."

"I'm sorry. Did you need to go first?"

Claire rolled her eyes and leaned sideways against the wall. "Why does this stuff always happen to _me_?"

"You're a lucky girl."

Claire scoffed. "Why, because I'm locked in a bathroom stall with you?"

Bender shrugged. "Some girls would pay a lot for an experience like this. To think, you get it for free."

"Does that mean I can still get a refund?"

Bender laughed before he could stop himself, then reached out and grabbed her by the hand, pulling her into his lap. She gasped and swatted his arm, but he just grinned and put an arm protectively around her waist. "You shouldn't be standing over there. What if someone comes in and sees you? That would look pretty suspicious."

"More suspicious than me sitting on your lap?"

"Definitely."

Claire rolled her eyes, but didn't get up, and Bender grinned, knowing that he had her hooked. He moved his hand over onto his leg and started humming Led Zeppelin's 'Black Dog', drumming the rhythm on his thigh and letting his hand brush against her skirt every few seconds. Claire pretended to stare at the tile wall, but he could see her watching him out of the corner of her eye. He smirked and started singing, doing his best impression of Robert Plant's high-pitched vocals. "_Hey, hey, mama, said the way you move, gon' make you sweat, gon' make you groove…"_

He'd just started in on the next guitar solo when Claire turned and glared at him. "Do you _mind_?"

"Sorry, I know the pitch is a little off but-"

Claire rolled her eyes. "I was talking about Vernon hearing you."

Bender nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. He'd probably prefer the Village People."

Claire scoffed and pushed away from him, but Bender tightened the arm around her waist, preventing her from leaving. She struggled for about half of a second before settling back and releasing a deep sigh of irritation… but Bender wasn't fooled. He knew she could put up a damn good fight when she wanted to and obviously she didn't want to. He used the arm around her waist to pull her flush against his chest, then lifted his lips to her ear. "We'd better stay in here for a few more minutes. He could still be out there, hiding behind the water fountain."

Claire's face became rosy with embarrassment. "I'm sure he's gone by now."

"No, he isn't. He's never gone. He's always out there…" Bender lips brushed against her earlobe as he whispered the last word. "…_waiting_."

Claire swallowed deeply, then turned to face him, bringing their lips together. He kissed her slowly, but she pressed her mouth impatiently against his, squirming against him and wrapping her arms around his neck. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, hoping that it wouldn't freak her out, but she took it in stride, letting out a little, breathy gasp and then relaxing against him.

After a few minutes, Bender pulled away from her, breathing deeply. Claire looked disappointed, then slightly stunned, as she removed her hands from the back of his neck and let them hang in the air as if she wasn't quite sure what to do with them anymore. Bender loosened the arm around her waist and she rose unsteadily to her feet. "I think he's gone now."

Bender nodded mutely and she unlocked the door to the stall. Just as they walked out, the main door flew open and a small girl with braids walked in holding a retainer in her hand. All three of them stopped short, the girl's mouth dropping open at the sight of the two of them standing there together, flushed and rumpled. Claire was speechless, but Bender recovered rather quickly.

"Well, um… toilet's fixed."


	44. Out of Practice

A/N: Just to clear a few things up, Brian does not, I repeat NOT, have a crush on Claire, LOL! Also, Bender didn't _really_ find Vernon's license in the girls' bathroom; he got it when he and Allison lifted Vernon's wallet in the previous chapter. He was just saying that to Brian to freak him out a bit and make him wonder what Vernon was doing in the girls' bathroom.

Another thing to keep in mind is that the value of money has changed a lot since 1984. For this chapter, it may be helpful to know that $64 in 1984 is equivalent to approximately $113 today.

**

* * *

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Chapter Forty-four: Out of Practice

* * *

Allison spent her afternoon classes going through Vernon's wallet, or what was left of it. She and Bender had split the cash, each of them walking away with $32, a very nice sum, indeed. She had no idea why Vernon would carry so much money around with him, but it wasn't like she was going to complain about it. Then again, she didn't really have anything to spend it on, so perhaps it didn't matter anyway.

By her last period English class, Allison was growing quite bored with Vernon's wallet. She'd let Bender take all of the fun stuff, like his school I.D. and driver's license, so she didn't have anything to pore over and memorize. Eventually, she put the wallet back into her knapsack, right next to Jordan's jockstrap (where she thought it might feel at home), and dug out her sketchpad.

She spent the rest of class period finishing up a river scene she'd started earlier that morning when she was trying not to fall asleep in physics. She hardly noticed when Mrs. Driscoll finished her lecture over the Great Gatsby, or when the students around her started packing up to go home. She was so absorbed in her drawing that she didn't even realize she was being watched.

"That's really good."

Allison jerked her head up, startled. Across the aisle, a girl with long, sandy hair and golden skin was gazing at Allison's sketchpad. She looked up at Allison's face and smiled. "You've got a good eye for detail."

Allison didn't know how to respond. She opened her mouth to say 'thank you' or 'hello' or 'who the hell are you?', but nothing came out, so she just sat there, mouth hanging open like a dead goldfish. A few seconds later, the final bell rang and the girl stood up, offering Allison an embarrassed smile. "Well… bye."

Allison still couldn't say anything, so she just stayed glued to her chair and watched the girl leave the room. After a moment, she stood up and started gathering her things, thinking the entire time that it was absolutely no wonder at all why she didn't have any friends.

* * *

When the final bell rang, Claire collected her belongings and walked out to the student parking lot, stopping first at her locker to drop off a couple of books. She'd just reached her father's white Buick LaSabre when she spotted Clarissa talking with a couple of fellow cheerleaders across the aisle. "Clarissa!"

The blonde girl glanced up and smiled, then walked over to Claire's car, her gym bag bouncing against her side. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"I'm about to go home. Do you have practice?"

Clarissa nodded and glanced at her pale pink watch. "In ten minutes." She looked back up at Claire, then over her shoulder. "Wow, look at that!"

Claire glanced behind her, where a shiny, black Camaro was parked in the spot next to hers. "That's a nice car."

"God, I know." Clarissa sighed dramatically. "I wish I had a car like that."

Claire nodded sympathetically, then turned back to her friend. "What are you doing tonight?"

Clarissa tore her eyes away from the sports car and looked back at Claire. "What? Oh, um, studying."

"Oh." Claire sighed, disappointed. "I was hoping we could hang out, maybe get something to eat."

Clarissa wrinkled her nose. "Sorry. I've got this lab report due in Chemistry tomorrow and I have to finish it."

Claire shrugged. "It's okay." Suddenly, she paused, looking up at Clarissa. "Wait, Chemistry?"

Clarissa nodded as she pulled a pack of Sweetarts out of her bag. "Uh huh, Chem II. It's taking me a really long time. We have to analyze all of these different metals and their reactions to these chemicals or whatever and then we have to, like, fill out this really long chart and describe how each metal changed and, like, which ones exploded or whatever and then-"

Claire put out a hand to stop her. "So, Chemistry."

Clarissa nodded, sucking on a Sweetart. "Yes."

"You really like that stuff, don't you?"

Clarissa blushed. "Well, I don't know. I mean, it's not like-"

"It's okay if you like it, Clarissa."

Clarissa looked at Claire for a moment, trying to figure out whether or not she was kidding. "Yeah, I like it," she said warily.

"It's okay. I'm not Amy. I'm not going to make fun of you."

Clarissa smiled slowly. "Okay."

Claire let this sink in for a moment before speaking. "What are you doing this Saturday?"

* * *

Andy showed up to wrestling practice about thirty seconds before Coach Morales started barking orders. He was grateful that he'd avoided John once again, but he was also getting a bit tired of playing hide and seek. He wasn't sure which was harder, finding ways to avoid his best friend or dealing with the situation head-on.

Practice was tough and Andy was drained enough as it was, but at least it gave him something to focus on. The hour flew by relatively quickly and before he knew it, Coach was blowing the final whistle. "Good work, guys. Hit the showers."

Andy grabbed his towel and wiped the sweat from his face and neck. He was about to take a drink from the water fountain when Coach Morales called out to him. "Clark!"

Andy walked over. "Yes, sir?"

Coach Morales ran a hand over his head, smoothing out his dark, wild mass of hair. "How'd you feel out there today?"

_Like shit, and you? _"Good."

The coach nodded, watching him closely. "You seemed distracted."

Andy took a deep breath. "No, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes, sir."

"Positive?"

"Yes, sir."

The older man paused. "You eating well?"

"Yes, sir."

"What about sleep?"

"Yes, sir."

"You ready for Saturday?"

"Yes, sir."

"None of this 'yes, sir' shit. Are you _ready_ for _Saturday_?"

Andy hesitated, then nodded. "My knee's fine. I've been wrapping it, so it hasn't been giving me too many problems."

"Are you gonna win?"

Andy swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"Good. That's what I like to hear." He gave Andy a satisfied nod, which was about as close to a warm smile as he was ever going to get. "I want you to do your stretches tonight. Three sets of each. And I want you to soak it after."

"Yes, sir."

"And get some goddamn sleep, for cryin' out loud. I don't want you fallin' asleep on the mat on Saturday."

"Yes, sir."

Coach Morales nodded. "Now go get a shower."

"Yes, sir." Andy picked up his towel from the bench he'd left it on and entered the locker room. The atmosphere wasn't nearly as intense as it had been the day before but he still wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, so he decided against a shower, knowing that it would be just as easy to take one when he got home. He stuffed his extra clothes into his gym bag and shut his locker before heading down the aisle and out into the hallway.

He had just reached the door leading out to the student parking lot when the locker room door swung open behind him. "Andy!"

Andy turned, shoulders back, head held high. "What?"

John rolled his eyes. "What do you mean, _what_? You planning on giving me the silent treatment forever?"

Andy narrowed his eyes. "I don't have anything to say to you."

"Like hell you don't! You've been ignoring me all day. Just say something, anything."

Andy shrugged. "What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me why this is such a big deal."

"You know why."

"Why the hell do you care so much, man? He's just some prick that attacked you in the hall. It's not like-"

"He wasn't just some prick. I knew him."

John paused. "You knew him?"

Andy swallowed. "Yeah."

"Then why didn't you say so?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

Andy shrugged, already tired of the conversation.

John waited for him to say something else, but he didn't. "Okay, so what happens now?"

"I don't know."

"Don't know or don't care?"

"Pick one."

John stared at him for a moment. "What the hell's going on with you?" he asked, bewildered.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you look like your dog just got run over by a fucking truck. Is your dad on your ass again?"

"Since when is he ever _not_ on my ass?" When John didn't say anything, Andy sighed. "Look, everything's fine, alright?"

"Bull shit."

"Shut up, John."

"I know you better than that, Andy."

"Do you?" Andy shook his head angrily. "Cause I'm not so sure anymore."

"Don't be so fucking dramatic. I wanna know how this is gonna end."

"It's _already_ ended!" It wasn't until the words were out of Andy's mouth that he realized that they were true. Part of him wanted to snatch them back, to rewind this last week and a half, to do it all over again. But then there was that other part, the part that didn't really care about any of it anymore, the part that just wanted to go home and curl up in his bed and go to sleep until this whole mess was over.

John looked stunned. "You're kidding."

"No."

John shook his head. "I can't believe that. We've been friends for three years, man. Three years! I've taken you to parties, I've listened to you complain about your old man, I've watched you win championship after fucking championship. And suddenly we're just not friends anymore?"

Andy sighed. "Looks like it."

"That's a shitty thing to say."

"Well, it was a shitty thing to do."

John let out a mirthless chuckle. "That's a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think? I mean, two weeks ago in the locker room, you taped some guy's butt cheeks together and he didn't do anything to anyone." John shook his head in disbelief. "So, if you're gonna end our friendship because of _that_… well, fuck you, Andy. _Fuck you_."

Without waiting for Andy to respond, John pushed open the locker room door and disappeared back inside.


	45. Happy Birthday

A/N: Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-five: Happy Birthday**

* * *

When Claire walked into her house on Tuesday afternoon, the first thing she noticed was the smell. She set her purse down in the living room and went into the kitchen, where their maid Martha was leaning over the stove, turning the knobs to adjust the heat. The sound of Claire's heels clicking against the tile floor alerted the woman to the teenager's presence and she turned. "Afternoon."

Claire smiled. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Oatmeal Chocolate Chip."

Claire let out a little groan of pleasure. "They smell so good."

Martha chuckled. "They'll be done in about ten minutes."

Claire took one last sniff of baking cookies and went up to her room, where she changed out of her lace trimmed skirt and silk blouse and into a pair of trousers and a fitted sweater. She didn't have any plans for the evening and it wasn't like she needed to impress Martha, who'd known her since she was four and was probably the only person outside of her immediate family who'd actually seen her without any make up on. Besides, who cared what she looked like when there were Oatmeal Chocolate Chip cookies downstairs, fresh out of the oven and calling her name?

She arrived downstairs just as Martha was taking the cookies out of the oven. Claire pulled a stool up to the kitchen counter and waited patiently for her afternoon snack, feeling about six years old all over again. Just as Martha started removing the cookies from the baking sheet, Claire's mother walked in, smelling faintly of Chanel Number 5. "Hello, sweetie."

Claire rolled her eyes. Her mother's moods were completely unpredictable. One minute, she'd be arguing with Claire about staying out too late and the next, she'd be telling her daughter how lovely she looked in red. She was convinced that her mother suffered from Multiple Personality Disorder, or at the very least, short term memory loss.

Mrs. Standish poured herself a glass of milk from the fridge, then did the same for Claire. Claire forced a polite smile. "Thanks."

"How was school?"

"Fine." Did they really need to have this conversation everyday?

"Did anything interesting happen?"

Claire frowned. "Like what?"

Mrs. Standish shrugged and took a sip of milk, being careful not to smudge her lipstick. "I don't know. Did you see anyone special?"

"Special?"

Mrs. Standish smiled knowingly. "Well, you know… like a boy."

_Well, I made out with John Bender in a bathroom stall. Does that count? _"Uh, no."

"Oh." Mrs. Standish gave her daughter a sympathetic smile and reached out to tuck a lock of Claire's hair behind her ear. "Well, these things take time."

Claire stiffened and leaned backwards out of her mother's reach. "I'm not worried about it."

Before Mrs. Standish could say anything else, the doorbell rang and Claire jumped up, eager for a way out of the conversation. "I'll get it."

She opened the door to see her next door neighbor, David, standing on her front porch, hands tucked into the pockets of his khaki trousers. "Hey, Claire."

"Hey, David. How are you?"

He smiled. "I'm fine. My dad asked me to come over to ask you for a favor."

"Me?"

"Well, your parents, I guess."

Claire stepped aside, allowing David room to come in. He followed Claire into the kitchen, where Martha and her mother were admiring a plate of cookies on the counter. "David!" her mother exclaimed. "How are you, sweetie?"

David laughed and pushed his glasses up. "I'm great. How are you, Mrs. Standish?"

Claire's mother ignored the question. "Here, sit down. Have some cookies."

David did as he was told and took a seat at the counter, but didn't reach for the plate. "Thank you."

"How's school?"

"It's going well."

"And how's your father?"

Claire rolled her eyes at this, knowing that her mother had a bit of a schoolgirl crush on David's father. Wes Anderson was the most sought after bachelor in their neighborhood, mostly because he was rich, good looking _and_ nice, which was a very rare combination indeed. That said, there was still a bit of scandal surrounding their family after he and his wife went through a very dramatic and very public divorce about five years previous. Claire's mother, of course, considered Claudia Anderson a conniving little gold digger and her long-suffering ex-husband a saint for having put up with her for so long.

"He's fine. He's having a dinner party for some people at his office this Friday and was wondering if it would be okay if some of them parked in your driveway."

"Of course he can. He doesn't even have to ask."

David smiled. "Thanks. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

Mrs. Standish took a peek at her watch. "I'm late." She looked back up at David. "But it was so good to see you, David. You'll tell your father I said hello, won't you?"

"Of course."

When Mrs. Standish was gone, David reached for a cookie. "Martha, you must have known I was coming over or you wouldn't have made my favorite cookies."

Martha turned from the stove and grinned. "I was hoping you would smell them baking and come visit me."

David laughed and took a large bite. Martha finished tidying up the counter and gave David a pat on the cheek before she left. "Next time you come over, I'll make brownies."

David's eyebrows went up. "Are you busy tomorrow?"

Martha laughed and exited the kitchen, leaving David and Claire alone.

"If she's serious, then I'm totally coming over tomorrow."

Claire laughed and looked over at him. "She probably is."

David shook his head, marveling at the thought of an entire pan of warm fudge brownies just for him. Claire reached for a cookie and they ate together in silence for a few minutes. As they ate, Claire snuck a few discreet glances over at David, who was oblivious to everything except for the plate of cookies in front of him.

Claire and David weren't friends. Not anymore anyway. But Claire could still remember them playing tag on his front lawn when they were seven and eating cookies in her kitchen when they were ten. After that, it got a bit hazy. When they started middle school, Claire began wearing lipstick and hanging out with the pretty girls while David started wearing Star Wars t-shirts and eating lunch with the science geeks. By the time they got to high school, they hardly knew each other anymore. It wasn't anyone's fault, really. In a way, it was kind of how it was supposed to be.

"So, I heard you got a birthday present this morning."

David looked over at her, grinning. "Have you seen it?"

Claire shook her head. "My dad told me about it this morning at breakfast. What kind is it?"

"Camaro."

Claire nearly choked on her cookie. "Camaro?"

David laughed. "It's funny, but everyone seems to be having the same reaction to my news. I'm starting to think no one's happy for me."

Claire cleared her throat. "No, I am. I just wasn't expecting something so…"

"So cool?" David grinned. "It's okay, you can say it."

"I wasn't going to say that," she lied. "It's just… it's just a really nice car," she finished lamely.

David nodded. "It drives really smoothly. I feel like I'm in a space ship or something." He took another bite of the cookie and started chewing. "You should try it sometime."

Claire looked over at him, surprised. "Me?"

"Yeah, it's really fun to drive. I think you'd like it." David glanced at his watch and stood up from the stool. "I've gotta go. I've got soccer practice in a little while." He motioned to the plate of cookies. "Can I take one with me?"

Claire chuckled. "Take as many as you want."

David shook his head. "No, I'll leave you some." He grinned goofily and grabbed a handful of the cookies. "I'll see you later, Claire."

"You, too." Claire walked him to the door and gave him a small wave as he ambled across her front lawn, dropping cookie crumbs in the grass. She looked past him, where the black Camaro she and Clarissa had been admiring earlier was parked in the Anderson's circular driveway.

How ironic.

* * *

Allison sat patiently in Dr. Guerin's waiting room, counting the minutes until 4:00. Her appointments with the psychologist always brought along mixed feelings. She liked Dr. Guerin; he'd known her since she was nine years old and she felt relatively comfortable in his presence, given the circumstances. Yet, no matter how nice he was or how often she visited him, she would always hate coming here. Digging up old memories was never any fun.

To pass the time, Allison picked up a magazine from the stack on the table beside her. Doctors' offices always subscribed to the weirdest magazines. Golf Digest, Parents' Weekly, Highlights, Chicago Monthly, Better Homes and Gardens, Woman's World. Allison turned her nose up at the selection, but settled on Woman's World, which promised to help her lose ten pounds in two weeks. Allison wasn't interested in dieting, but she was curious to see what all the fuss was about with these things, why so many women bought into the idea of an entire magazine devoted to telling you what you could change about yourself. She flipped to an article about choosing the right shade of blush for her skin type and settled in.

Allison was still trying to figure out what the seasons had to do with make up when the door in front of her opened and Dr. Guerin stepped out. "Allison."

Allison put the magazine aside and followed Dr. Guerin into his office, where she plopped down in the big, comfy armchair she'd claimed since the first day she arrived there, small and scared and clutching a ratty pillow in her hand. He had been kind to her, which she appreciated in hindsight, but the main reason she'd settled down was the fact that Dr. Guerin looked so much like her father. He was tall and thin, with dark hair that was a bit grey around the temples and he even wore glasses, which he let Allison try out for herself. Yes, he reminded Allison of her father, only before everything fell apart. Whether the doctor realized it or not, this was the only reason that she'd ever agreed to come back.

"How are you today?"

Allison looked up at Dr. Guerin, who was sitting across from her in a stiff-backed armchair, pen and paper poised to take notes. She nodded at the notepad. "Why don't you tell me?"

The doctor smiled indulgently. "I'd prefer to hear it from you. How is school?"

"Fine."

"And what about home?"

Allison paused, unsure of what to say. "It's the same."

The doctor nodded. "And today?"

Allison stiffened, though she knew the question was coming. "What about today?"

Dr. Guerin watched her closely. "It's April third."

"So?"

"So, I think that means something to you. Am I wrong?"

Allison didn't deny or confirm his conclusion, just sat back and picked at a loose string on the arm of the chair she was sitting in.

"Tell me about this morning."

Allison didn't answer for a moment, just kept playing with the string. Without looking up, she said, "My mother didn't get out of bed."

Allison could hear his pencil scratching against the notepad a few feet away. "And your father?"

"He was just staring out the window."

Silence. Then: "And what about you?"

The string on the chair snapped and Allison stared at it numbly. "She would have been twenty-one today."

"Yes."

Allison looked up at him. "Twenty-one."

"Yes," he said again. "She would have."

"But she won't now."

"No, she won't." Dr. Guerin looked at her closely. "What are you thinking?"

"Nothing." He didn't say anything to this, just waited. Finally, she took a deep breath. "She probably would have gone out drinking with her friends. She would have gotten really drunk and stayed out late and tomorrow she would have had a hangover." She paused. "That's what I was thinking."

The doctor scribbled something down on the paper. "Is that all?"

Allison swallowed. "My mother would have called her really early tomorrow morning, just to make sure she was okay, and my father would have called her from work to see if she needed anything, and even though she said no, he'd still stop by her apartment on the way home just to drop off a pint of French Vanilla ice cream."

More scribbling. "And what would you have done?"

A few seconds passed. "I would have told her to save some for me."

Dr. Guerin leaned forward and pushed his glasses up with his index finger. "Did your father say anything to you this morning?"

"He told me to have a good day."

"Did he say anything about Rachel?"

"No."

"Did he say anything about why your mother was in bed?"

"He said she had a stomach bug."

"Did he say anything else?"

"No."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Guess."

Dr. Guerin sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "If you could replay that scene, how would you have wanted it to go?"

Allison looked up, startled by the question. "What?"

"If you had another chance to do it again, what would you have wanted your father to say to you this morning?"

Allison stared at the doctor for a moment, trying to come up with a good answer. She could still see her father standing at the sink, staring out the window, lifting the coffee cup to his lips without really tasting anything. She could still remember him telling her goodbye in the car and her turning back to look at him, ready for the anger to start flowing through her veins, though it never came. She knew that it had something to do with the look in her father's eyes, sad and hopeful and empty. What could he have said to make it all better?

"I don't know."

* * *

A/N: Before everyone starts asking me a million questions, yes, you will find out more about what happened with Allison's family in later chapters.

I would love some feedback for this chapter. Thanks.


	46. How the Other Half Lives

A/N: Sorry for the delay with this chapter. I had good reasons, I promise. Anyway, it's going to be important for you to remember what happened in previous chapters for Bender and Andy's sections. Bender and his friend Roger are still uncomfortable/not talking to one another (Ch. 40). Andy had a big blowout fight with his friend John after wrestling practice (Ch. 44). Allison just had her appointment with the psychologist (Ch. 45).

* * *

Chapter Forty-six: How the Other Half Lives

* * *

Brian stared at the rows of formulas in his textbook, letting the numbers blur until they blended together completely, forming a big grey blob on the page. After a few seconds, he took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, letting them refocus on the numbers. It wasn't the formulas themselves that were giving Brian problems; it was that stupid cast. Sure, he could memorize Latin verbs for that test he'd aced earlier in the day. He could read Hamlet from cover to cover without even blinking. He could even use his father's old typewriter to write compositions for his English class without any problems. But Chemistry? Calculus? He couldn't just stare at his book all day, memorizing formulas. Eventually he had to use them and that involved writing… which he couldn't do.

Brian grabbed a pencil from the middle of the dining room table and tried writing with his left hand. The result was hardly legible. In fact, Leah could have done a better job and it took her nearly five minutes to write her own name. He switched sides and tried to write with his cast hand, but the cast made it very difficult. After a few seconds of struggle, he dropped the pencil onto the table, where it rolled off the edge and onto the floor.

Frustrated, Brian ducked under the table to retrieve the pencil and bumped his head on the side on the way back up. "Ow!"

"What's wrong?"

Brian glanced over at his mother, who was standing at the stove a few feet away. "Um, nothing. I just… I just hit my head."

"Is that your chemistry homework?"

Brian felt a wave of dread flow over him. "Uh, yeah. You know, it's just some practice problems. It's not-"

"Are you having trouble?"

Brian took a deep breath. "Well, it's kind of hard to write, but it's okay because I can just, you know, I can just use my-"

Before Brian could finish his thought, Mrs. Johnson had crossed the room and grabbed the pencil from her son's hand. He stared blankly at her as she took a seat at the table next to him. "What are you… I mean, what-"

"What does it look like I'm doing? Hand me your notebook." Mrs. Johnson scooted her chair closer to her son's and accepted the notebook from his hand. "Now, tell me what you want to write."

Brian paused. "Mom, you don't have to-"

"And what else are you going to do?" She raised her eyebrows expectantly. "I'm not going to let you fall behind because of a broken arm."

"Oh."

"So, tell me what to write." Brian's mother settled in over the notebook, pencil hovering over the paper.

Brian hesitated for a moment before reading off a list of numbers. She recorded them quickly and accurately, her hand flying over the page. He finished the first problem in no time and was ready to move onto the next when he looked over at his mother, who was waiting for further instructions. "Hey, Mom."

"Mmmm hmmm?" she murmured, brushing some dust from the page.

Brian smiled shyly. "Thanks."

Mrs. Johnson looked up briefly and gave him a quick, tight smile. "Go on. Question two."

Brian nodded quickly and looked back at the book. They worked efficiently for the next thirty minutes, speeding through the practice problems at the end of the chapter. Neither of them spoke about anything unrelated to the task at hand, but it didn't really matter. For the first time in a very long time, Brian and his mother were sitting beside one another, talking. And it was kind of nice.

* * *

Bender arrived back at his house not long after school was over and climbed in through his window. He knew that both of his parents were home and he didn't want to risk a run-in with either one of them. When he was safe in his room, he locked the door and dug out some of his old Pink Floyd albums. He selected his favorite and pushed play and the tape started right in the middle of 'Wish You Were Here'. As the guitars carried on in the background, Bender dug out a tiny bag of weed that he'd purchased on his way home with a portion of the money Allison had given him from Vernon's wallet.

The weed and the music made for a relaxing and thoroughly enjoyable afternoon. He stayed holed up in his room for a couple of hours, eventually switching over to 'Dark Side of the Moon' and 'Meddle'. He was coming back down from the clouds when his father's voice cut through the haze. _"What the hell is this?"_

Bender couldn't hear his mother's answer, but he didn't really have to; he could imagine it well enough. She could be quite saucy when she wanted to be, especially with her only son, but she became much more passive and complacent when her husband started the yelling. She usually threw in a few quick remarks (which went right over George Bender's head) and managed to work in some decent insults, but the result was always the same: she lost.

_"I said, what the hell is this? You call this dinner?"_

Bender closed his eyes and tried reaching up again, up to the fog of sunshine and herbs and swelling orchestras. Another deep breath and he was-

_"Looks like you scraped it out of a fuckin' toilet!"_

Bender's eyes flew open. He stood up shakily and crossed back to the bed, where he'd discarded his denim jacket hours earlier. He put it on and moved to the window, pushing it up.

_"Answer me, dammit!"_

Bender heard something shatter on the other side of his door, probably in the kitchen. He heard his mother's voice, low and hard, and wondered what she was saying. Most of all, he wondered how much trouble it was going to get her into. He looked back at the window, then the door. Stay or go, stay or go.

Go.

Bender shut the window behind him and walked quickly across his yard. He could hear his mother much more clearly from outside of the house since the kitchen window was open. _"…would you like me to fix, George? Filet mignon?"_

There was another crash. Bender stopped in the middle of his yard, then kept going, faster this time.

_Chicken shit._

Bender didn't stop walking until he got to the park, which was almost empty. He wasn't really paying any attention to where he was going or what he was doing, just kept walking, faster and faster until he got to the merry-go-round.

Roger was leaning against the metal pole, still dressed in his stained work shirt from the garage. He had a beer in one hand and the rest of a six-pack sitting next to him. When he saw Bender, he paused and let the beer bottle fall against his leg. Bender stopped, but didn't say anything. Not that he could anyway with his mind running a mile a minute and the adrenaline speeding through his body like a freight train.

Roger watched him closely for a few seconds before speaking. "You want to sit down?"

Bender hesitated, then nodded. He sat down on the edge of the merry-go-round and leaned against one of the side bars then stared off into the distance for a few minutes, watching the cars drive up and down the street across from the park while he caught his breath. Eventually, he turned back to Roger, who was still watching him. Bender didn't say anything, just pulled his jacket tighter across his chest and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"You want one?"

Bender looked over at the carton of beers beside him and nodded. Roger removed one of the bottles and popped it open with a cap opener attached to his keychain. Bender accepted the drink and took a long swig, letting the cool liquid fill his mouth and throat and flow down into his stomach. He drank it slowly, savoring it, letting it calm him down from the inside, just like the weed.

When he was about half finished with his beer, Bender looked back at Roger, who was leaning back against the center pole, eyes focused on something off in the distance and fingers clutched around the glass bottle. He hadn't taken a bath yet and still smelled of gasoline and exhaust fumes. Flecks of oil and sweat were smeared across his forehead or clung to his neat, dark beard.

"How was work?"

Roger's eyes flickered over in his direction. "It was fine," he said quietly. "How was school?"

Bender thought back to his time with Allison during lunch, eating cereal and stealing Vernon's wallet. Then he thought about Claire, arms wrapped around his neck as they made out in the girls' bathroom. What would she do if she were here right now, right in the middle of the park? Would she let him pull her down onto his lap and wrap his arms around her waist? Would the sounds of cars backfiring keep her from tangling her fingers in his hair, or from winding their tongues together? Would she keep clinging to him when the sun went down and the lowlifes started walking the streets, starting fights and dealing drugs? Bender tried, but he just couldn't picture it. He glanced over at Roger, who was still waiting for an answer. "Fine," he said. "School was fine."

Roger nodded and took another sip of beer. Bender leaned back against the metal pole and cradled the bottle in his lap, the cool glass sweating on his palms and fingers. He thought that maybe he should say something to his friend, an apology maybe. But he couldn't really remember what they'd been fighting about anyway and was too tired to care about whose fault it was at that point. Probably his. It usually was.

Luckily, Roger didn't seem to expect anything. Maybe it was because he wasn't angry or disappointed anymore. Maybe it was because he was just too damn tired, like Bender. Either way, it didn't matter. Bender was just glad that something positive in his life was back to normal.

* * *

After practice, Andy stopped at McDonald's for some chicken nuggets and a milkshake. He didn't eat them in the restaurant, but took them to go and snacked while he drove. He didn't want to go home just yet; the idea of talking to his father about practice or his mother about school made him even more tired than he already was and he didn't think that he could handle another conversation just then, especially one where he had to pretend as though nothing was wrong. So he just kept driving, not caring where he was going or how long it was taking, and stared out of the windshield, sipping his vanilla milkshake.

He wasn't really sure how, but after about thirty minutes of wandering aimlessly around Shermer, Andy ended up in Allison's neighborhood. For some reason, this comforted him, knowing that she was so close by, drawing pictures of forks or listening to music with the volume turned up high. Before he could stop himself, Andy pulled up into her driveway and got out of the vehicle.

An older man with dark grey hair and glasses opened the door, looking out at Andy curiously. "Hello."

"Um, hi. Is, uh… is Allison home?"

The man nodded and invited him into the house, shutting the door behind him. He offered Andy his hand. "Tom Reynolds."

Andy accepted the handshake and nodded politely. "Andy Clark. I'm a… friend of Allison's."

Mr. Reynolds nodded stiffly. "It's nice to meet you. I'll… I'll let her know you're here."

Andy nodded and watched him make his way up the staircase. When he was gone, Andy jammed his hands into his pockets and took a look at his surroundings. He hadn't seen any of the interior when he picked up Allison for their date the week before, so he didn't really know what to expect. He was surprised at how normal it all looked, like his house, only a little bit larger. Andy walked over to wall next to the staircase, where a collection of pictures was hiding behind a tall, fake ficus tree, and moved the branches out of the way so that he could get a better look. There were fewer pictures than he'd realized, but it looked as though there had been more judging by the large, random spaces between frames and the faint, rectangular outlines they'd left behind. Andy let his eyes flicker over each picture before settling on one of Allison at about six or seven. She was short and skinny with dark, wild hair and a big, toothy grin and she was wearing a big, floppy hat that looked like it probably belonged to her grandmother.

Andy moved away from the wall when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Mr. Reynolds nodded at him as he passed by on his way into the living room. He was followed closely by Allison, who was watching Andy as she took the last few steps.

"Hi."

"Hi," she said.

Andy took a deep breath. "I was just in the neighborhood and I thought maybe…"

Allison nodded and motioned for him to follow her upstairs. He followed her up to the second floor and into her room, which was small and plain, but comfortable. There were tapes strewn all over the floor and ink and pencil drawings covering the walls, but not much else. Allison sat down on the floor at the foot of her bed and waited for him to join her.

Andy sank down into the grey carpet and leaned back against the bed. He looked over at Allison, who was watching him without expression. "How was your day?"

Allison didn't say anything right away but when she did, her voice was very quiet. "How was yours?"

Andy let out a deep sigh, grateful that he didn't have to lie. "Shit."

"What happened?"

"I got into a fight with my best friend." He paused. "We're not friends anymore."

"Is it because of what happened to John?"

"Bender?" Andy nodded. "Yeah."

Allison didn't say anything else and Andy just watched her. She was leaned back against the bed, hugging her knees and staring at the far wall. He wished that he knew what she was thinking; it was so hard to tell sometimes, she hid things so well. He wanted to ask questions about her day, but realized that he didn't even know enough to ask anything specific. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

Allison looked over at him. "Like what?"

"It doesn't matter." When she didn't respond, he smiled. "What's your favorite food?"

Allison let out a slow, crooked grin. "Ice cream… with pretzels."

Andy burst out laughing. "That's so gross."

"Is not."

"Is, too."

"How would you know? You've never tried it."

"I don't need to. I just know."

Allison smirked and narrowed her eyes at him. "What's your favorite food?"

Andy thought about it for a minute. "Um… probably my mom's meatloaf."

Allison smiled. "That could be good."

"It is. You should come over some time. I'll tell her to make it for you."

Allison nodded slowly. "Okay."

Andy let that sink it for a minute. "Okay, so what about sports?"

Allison arched her eyebrow. "What about them?"

"Which one's your favorite?"

Allison wrinkled her nose. "I don't like sports."

Andy's eyes widened. "How can you _not_ like sports?"

Allison shrugged. "I just don't get it."

"Get what?"

"The point."

Andy paused thoughtfully. "Have you ever been on a roller coaster?" Allison nodded. "You know that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach just before you get to the top, right before you make the drop? Like you're nervous and excited at the same time?" She nodded again. "It's like that for me, when I'm walking out onto the mat, right before the whistle blows. And then when it finally does, it's like the drop, you know? Like it was all worth it because…" He hesitated. "I don't know why really. But it's exciting, just to be moving and using your strength and… _competing_." He shook his head. "It's a rush, you know?"

Allison stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly. "Maybe."

Andy just watched her. "Do you want to come to my meet on Saturday?"

Allison hesitated. "Do you want me to come?"

Andy nodded.

"Okay."

Andy smiled. "Good."

Allison bit her lip, but he could see that she was trying not to smile. He laughed. "You shouldn't do that."

Allison looked panicked. "Do what?"

Andy was still laughing. "You shouldn't try to keep it in."

Allison blushed and he could see the corners of her mouth turning up. He grinned and hooked his middle fingers inside the corners of his mouth and let his index fingers tug at the skin below his eyeballs, resulting in a slightly scary and very goofy face. Allison's hand flew to her mouth, but the damage was done; she erupted in a fit of giggles, hand still pressed against her mouth to muffle the sound. Andy burst out laughing. "See? You should do that all the time."

Allison removed her hand from her mouth and narrowed her eyes at him. "That was really gross, what you did with your eye."

Andy still couldn't wipe the grin off of his face. "I thought you liked gross stuff."

Allison glared at him. "Maybe you're the one that likes gross stuff. Maybe I'm normal."

Andy burst out laughing and Allison pushed against his arm with impressive force, causing him to fall over. "Hey!" he exclaimed.

"You deserve it," she said.

Andy sat up straight and looked her in the eye. She was flushed with excitement and her eyes were laughing and the corners of her mouth were quirking up. He swallowed. "Thanks."

Allison froze. "For what?"

"For letting me come over." He paused, leaning back against the bed. "It feels good to laugh, you know?"

Allison gave him a sad smile. "Yeah."

Andy nodded, holding her gaze. After a moment, she shifted her legs out from underneath her and scooted towards him. When they were only a couple of inches apart, she settled back against the foot of the bed and stretched her feet out in front of her. Andy watched her for a moment, then reached out and took her hand. Allison stared down at their hands for a moment before weaving their fingers together and pressing her palm more firmly against his.

* * *

A/N: Please review! It may help get the next chapter out a bit quicker (hint, hint). Just kidding… sort of.

BTW, you may recognize the title of this chapter as that of a book by Jacob A. Riis. Before you ask, the answer is no. I am not Jacob A. Riis and my story has virtually nothing to do with tenement housing in New York during the late twentieth century. It is a good book, though.


	47. The Ends Justify the Means

A/N: For this chapter it might be helpful to know that $25,000 in 1984 is worth approximately $56,000 (American money) or so today. There was some question concerning the date. Just to clear things up, the movie came out in 1985, but was set in 1984. Hence, Brian's opening monologue: "Saturday, March 24, 1984..."

* * *

Chapter Forty-seven: The Ends Justify the Means

* * *

When Brian walked into the kitchen on Wednesday morning, his mother and his sister were sitting at the table eating cereal and drinking orange juice. Leah looked up at him, milk dribbling down her chin and grinned, showing him a mouthful of chewed up cereal.

"Leah, don't open your mouth when there's food inside."

"Why?"

"Because it's rude." Mrs. Johnson stood up from the table and went back to cleaning up the kitchen. Brian sat down and poured himself a bowl of cereal and some orange juice. A few minutes later, his father walked in carrying a tie in his left hand.

"Louise, can you get this?"

Mrs. Johnson sighed and wiped her hands on a dishtowel. "Someday I won't be here and then what will you do?"

Mr. Johnson looked confused. "Wear a clip-on?"

His wife rolled her eyes as she finished tying the knot. "Go get the mail."

Mr. Johnson kissed his wife on the cheek. "Thank you."

Mrs. Johnson pretended not to hear him, though Brian could see her hiding a smile. He wondered sometimes what his parents were like when they first got married, if they really loved each other, if her father could make her laugh, if his mother could light him up with just a smile. He could see pieces of it every now and then, but for the most part, they were both very private when it came to showing one another affection.

Less than a minute later, Mr. Johnson came back with the mail. "You got something," he said, handing Brian a small white envelope.

Brian glanced at the return address. New York. "Uh, excuse me. I'll be… I'll be right back." Before anyone could say anything, he scooted out of the kitchen and ran to his room. When he was finally alone with the door closed, Brian tore open the envelope and sat down in his desk chair. He pulled out a piece of paper with cursive writing and a small picture of Karen.

Karen was the first and only girl he'd ever kissed and he had to admit that he was lying a little bit when he told Claire that he wasn't in love with her. Okay, maybe it wasn't love since they'd only spent less than two weeks together, but he couldn't help the fact that his stomach got tangled up in knots every time he looked at her picture.

Brian read the letter quickly and replaced it in the envelope. The picture enclosed, which was taken in Central Park on a very windy day, was taken by Karen herself. She was smiling broadly, strands of hair blowing across her face, cheeks and nose rosy with cold. He spent a moment memorizing it before propping it up against the framed picture of the two of them at Niagra Falls.

Brian couldn't keep the smile off of his face as he walked out of his room and down the hallway. It was going to be a good day. Nothing could destroy his good mood, he decided as he walked into the kitchen. Nothing. And then he looked up.

His father and his sister were watching him apprehensively from the kitchen table. He looked over at his mother, who was standing at the kitchen counter, glaring at him angrily. In her hand was clutched a small piece of thick, white paper. His report card.

Shit.

* * *

Bender stared up at his ceiling, refusing to look to his left, where rays of sunlight pierced through the cracks in the blinds. It had to be a crime to make school start so early in the morning. Didn't they realize that he needed his beauty sleep?

Finally, Bender got out of bed and trudged into his bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and washed his face. As he wiped his face with a washcloth, his eyes roamed down to his chest and stomach. The bruises were all but gone by then, with only a few pale green and yellow shadows remaining. Bender nodded with satisfaction at the observation and looked away from the mirror.

Back in his room, he threw on a clean shirt and his combat boots, then grabbed the last of his cigarettes from his nightstand. The house was very quiet at this time of the morning since his mother worked a lot of breakfast shifts and his father was usually asleep in the back room. When he passed the room his parents shared, he could see that the door was cracked open a few inches. Hesitantly, he pushed it open just a little bit more so that he had a clear view of the middle of the room. His father was asleep, snoring loudly and curled up in a ball on the far side of the bed.

Bender stood there for a moment, watching his father's chest rise and fall. Tucked into the fetal position, he looked very childlike and vulnerable, so unlike the man he was in his waking hours. Bender remembered the afternoon before, hearing his parents fighting in the kitchen, imagining dishes flung like missiles, shattering against the floor. He remembered Pink Floyd droning on in the back ground, the atmospheric melody contrasting sharply with the message: _"One of these days, I'm going to cut you into little pieces…"_

Bender could walk into that room and do whatever he wanted and it was possible that his father would never even wake up, never even know what hit him. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he and his mother would be better off without him and, after all, the ends justified the means, didn't they? It wouldn't even take that much either. A blow to the head would suffice, depending on the weight of the object. Bender looked down at his hands, which he had curled into tight fists without even realizing what he was doing. He glanced at the bed once more, hands shaking, before unfurling his fists, one finger at a time. Taking one last, shaky breath, Bender reached out and returned the door to its original position.

Out on the front porch, Jimmy was waiting for him, smoking a cigarette to warm himself up. Bender sighed and disappeared back into the house, returning with an old denim jacket he had when he was a kid. He tossed it into Jimmy's lap, startling him and causing him to drop his cigarette. "What's this?"

"What the hell does it look like?"

"Uh… a jacket."

Bender rolled his eyes. "Come on, let's go."

Jimmy stood up and put on the jacket over his thin t-shirt and flannel shirt. The jacket, which hadn't fit Bender since he was twelve, fit Jimmy perfectly, but the shirts underneath them were too large, so they bunched up in the front and under the arms. He didn't seem to notice, just picked up his cigarette off the ground and followed Bender down the driveway.

Neither of them spoke as they walked through their neighborhood. Jimmy finished smoking his cigarette and Bender kept his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trench coat to keep warm. When they entered the middle class neighborhood between his house and the school, Bender kept his eyes on the street in front of him while Jimmy gazed longingly at the cars lining the curb.

"How much money would it cost for a car like that?"

Bender glanced over to the car in question, a silver DeLorean. "I don't know. Maybe $25,000?"

Jimmy's eyes widened in awe. "That's a lot of money."

Bender let out a sharp chuckle. "Yeah, I know."

Jimmy grinned. "I wish I had a car like that. It's so cool."

Bender's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I can think of cooler cars."

"No, man, it's like a space car or something. They way the doors lift up and all. Like in the movies."

Bender rolled his eyes. About ten minutes later, they reached the football field, crossing over the yard lines until they ended up under the bleachers. Bender continued walking towards the building, but Jimmy plopped down in the grass and leaned against the cold metal pole.

"You not goin' to class?"

Jimmy shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe later."

Bender watched him take his cigarettes out of his front shirt pocket and light a new one. A cigarette sounded good just then and who the fuck cared about physics anyway? He started to walk back and join Jimmy for a smoke, but stopped himself. "I'll see you later, man."

Jimmy waved distractedly from his seat on the ground and started playing with a piece of grass. Bender hesitated for a moment, then pulled his coat tighter against his body and started walking towards the school.

* * *

When Allison walked into her first period physics class, the first thing she did was scan the back row for John. He was there, looking tired and pissed off, scowling at the wall. She made her way back to the last row and slumped down into the seat next to his. Bender glanced over at her with mild curiosity and a bit of apathy.

"Hi."

Bender cocked an eyebrow. "Hi."

They didn't say anything for a couple of minutes, but Allison decided that the silence wasn't uncomfortable. After a moment, she pulled out her knapsack to retrieve her Chapstick, but the first thing she saw was a pair of men's underwear. She cringed and started to brush them aside, then paused thoughtfully.

"I have something you might be interested in."

Bender looked over at her. "What?"

Allison glanced around quickly to ensure that no one was watching them before pulling out the underwear and hiding it beside her skirt so that only she and Bender could see it. Bender's bland expression changed into one of disgust. "You carry around Sporto's underwear with you?"

Allison rolled her eyes. "It isn't Andy's." She glanced behind her, where the redheaded jock and his blonde friend were talking quietly. She turned back to Bender and pointed over her shoulder. "It's his."

Bender looked confused. "Whose?"

"The guy with the red hair."

Bender's nose wrinkled in disgust. "What, you're screwin' the whole wrestling team now?"

Allison glared at him. "I took them from his bag," she explained.

"Why?"

Allison shrugged. "I don't know. I was angry and it was there and…"

"Angry about what?"

"I heard the two of them talking about beating you up."

Bender's eyes flashed with anger. "Oh, yeah? What'd they say?"

"That they taught you a lesson." She paused. "And the blonde one was saying that he beat you up in detention."

Bender scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"It isn't true?"

Bender looked almost offended. "No."

Allison reached down into her bag again, emerging with the jock strap, which she held with the tips of her fingers. "I took this from him."

Bender's eyes widened. "What the fuck did you want with that?"

Allison shrugged again, blushing furiously. "I don't know. I just took it." She paused, watching him closely. "Do you want them?"

Bender looked horrified. "No!"

"Because I was thinking you might find them useful."

Bender leveled her with a cold stare. "I've got some at home. Thanks."

"I didn't mean to wear them."

"So, what _did_ you mean?"

Allison paused dramatically before breaking into a sly grin. "Revenge."

Bender watched her closely for a moment, then glanced down at the ball of fabric she had clenched in her hand. With saying anything, he reached down and grabbed the entire wad from her, jockstrap and underwear, then stuffed it into an interior pocket of his jacket. Allison smiled and settled back into her seat, satisfied that some of her "finds" were going to good use. She didn't know what Bender would do with them, but it was fun trying to imagine it.

Almost more fun than taking them in the first place.

* * *

A/N: I know this chapter was a bit short, but the next one will be longer. Thanks for reading. Please review! 


	48. Better Hallway Vision

A/N: I'm sure you know this, but I'll say it anyway. I stole the title to this chapter from the movie. Please do not sue me.

Also, I've got a new story up in this fandom. It's called 'Friday Let Me Down' and it's a pre-detention fic. I know, I know. Shameless plug. But if you're interested, I'd love to know what you think.

* * *

Chapter Forty-Eight: Better Hallway Vision

* * *

When Claire reached her lunch table on Wednesday, she knew immediately that something was wrong. It didn't take a genius to figure it out either.

Break up.

Claire walked up behind Clarissa and tapped her on the elbow. The blonde girl turned and, when she saw who it was, sighed deeply. "I'm glad you're here."

"Is it Theresa?"

"No, Kim." Clarissa glanced over at the crowd of solemn teenage girls gathered at the center of the table. Claire tried to find Kim in the mix, but couldn't see past the ocean of curls and ponytails and French twists and braids. She stood on her tiptoes (which was no small feat in heels) and finally caught a glimpse of Kim in the middle of the group, dabbing her eyes with a Kleenex as she talked. The girl sitting next to Kim took the Kleenex from her hand and wiped a trail of mascara from Kim's cheek. Oblivious, Kim kept talking, fresh tears appearing out of nowhere when she got to a particularly distressing piece of the story.

Claire lowered herself back onto her heels and looked over at Clarissa. "This is bad."

Clarissa nodded solemnly.

"What happened?"

Clarissa removed a pack of Sweetarts from her skirt pocket and started unwrapping it. "She went over to his house last night and found Shawna Duncan hiding in his closet and she was, like, totally naked. Well, I mean, except for, like, a bra and panties or something."

Claire's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

Clarissa removed a piece of candy and nodded. "Yeah, Jason was acting all weird and stuff when she showed up and Kim was, like, 'What's going on, Jason?' and Jason was, like, 'Nothing. What? Nothing's wrong.'" Clarissa lowered her voice for Jason's part and Claire had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Clarissa didn't seem to notice and continued acting out the scene. "So, Kim was, like, 'You haven't called me in forever.' And Jason was, like, 'Nuh uh. I called you on Saturday.' And Kim was, like, 'Yeah, Saturday.' And Jason was, like, 'So?' and Kim was, like, 'So, it's Tuesday.' And then Jason was, like-"

Claire held up her hand. "So, he was cheating on her."

Clarissa nodded and held out the package of Sweetarts. "Want one?"

Claire shook her head. "No, thanks." She glanced back at the huddle of girls, then back at her friend. "What're the chances I'll be able to eat my lunch today?"

Clarissa looked over at the crowd and sighed. "Slim to none."

Claire nodded. "That's what I thought."

----------

Clarissa was right. Their table spent the entire lunch period offering condolences, handing out tissues, sighing sympathetically and calling Jason a bastard who didn't deserve someone as beautiful as Kim in the first place. All Claire ate the entire period were four Sweetarts, which Clarissa passed her under the table as they told Kim that she was way better off without him.

By the time she reached fourth period, Claire was tired and hungry. Miss Montgomery, her history teacher, gave their class a worksheet that she wanted completed by the end of the period and left them to work in silence. Claire glared at the paper and opened her textbook.

After about ten minutes of staring blankly at her paper and coming up with zero energy or motivation to complete it, Claire stood up and walked over to Miss Montgomery's desk, where the young teacher was grading a stack of quizzes.

"Miss Montgomery?"

The teacher looked up eagerly. "Yes, Claire? Did you have a question about the worksheet?"

"Um, no." Claire paused, shooting the woman a hesitant smile. "I was actually wondering if it was possible that I finish the worksheet at home."

Miss Montgomery looked concerned. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no. It's just that I told Mrs. Lucas that I would come help her get some work done today for the prep club," she lied.

"Oh… well, okay." Miss Montgomery hesitated, then reached into her desk for a stack of yellow hall passes. She filled one out quickly and handed it over to Claire. "Just make sure you finish that worksheet. I'll collect it from you tomorrow. We also have a quiz over that last chapter, so I recommend that you look over the study questions in the book."

Claire shot her a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Miss Montgomery. I really appreciate it."

Miss Montgomery beamed, happy to be appreciated for once. "You're welcome. I hope you get a lot of work done."

"Oh, I will. Thank you." Claire turned and walked back to her seat, where she collected her purse and textbook.

Claire headed for Mrs. Lucas' classroom, which was located in the Home Ec department. The prep club sponsor would be surprised to see her, but she wouldn't turn her away. Even if she did actually have to work this period, it was better to work on prep club stuff than History worksheets.

"Skipping _again_?"

Claire whirled around to find John Bender standing a few feet away, leaning against a locker. He shook his head sadly. "That's no way to get ahead in life, Claire."

Claire rolled her eyes. "I have a pass." She paused, arching an eyebrow. "Where's yours?"

Bender pushed off from the locker and started walking towards her very slowly, patting his jacket pocket a few times. "Hmmm…" He smirked. "Looks like I've misplaced it."

"I'm sure."

Bender stopped when he was only inches away from her and reached out to put a hand on her waist, sliding it up along her side then along the middle of her back just below her shoulder blades. Claire sucked in a shallow breath. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked, leaning forward so that his face was only a few inches from hers. "I'm lookin' for my hall pass," he whispered, his warm breath trailing along her cheek and down her neck.

"Oh," she croaked lamely. _Oh? _Was that the best she could come up with? Oh? Bender's lips pressed lightly against her neck and her stomach fluttered. Perhaps so.

Bender trailed back up her neck and hovered next to her ear. Claire turned slightly and their lips brushed together. Bender must have taken her movement as an invitation because he pulled her body closer against his and kissed her a bit harder. Claire felt a wave of dread wash over her at the possibility of getting caught making out with John Bender in the middle of the hallway, but when John parted his mouth and pushed his tongue past her lips, all of her anxiety washed away in a flood of desire. She wrapped her arm around his neck and kissed him back.

What the hell.

* * *

Brian stared at his Latin textbook, lines of vocabulary words swimming in front of his eyes. He blinked several times to clear his vision, but it didn't help. After a moment, he gave up and pushed the book away, leaning back in his chair.

Brian hadn't eaten very much for lunch. His mother had been so upset about his report card that she'd forgotten to pack him a lunch or give him any money to buy a hot plate from the cafeteria. In the end, he'd settled on a handful of Allison's Cheetos and a homemade Oatmeal Chocolate Chip cookie from David.

Brian's stomach rumbled and he sighed, looking back at his Latin book. Usually, study hall was a good time for him to get his homework done, but there was no way he'd ever be able to concentrate today. After a few minutes, he got out of his seat and approached his teacher's desk. "Um, Mrs. Franklin?"

The woman looked up. "Yes?"

Brian wasn't very good at lying, but he figured he'd give it his best shot. "Um, I don't really feel very well."

Mrs. Franklin frowned. "What's wrong?"

Shit. He didn't know. "Um, well, my head. You know, my head is really hurting and, um… my stomach. My stomach hurts, too." He paused, wondering if that was enough or if he needed to continue. "And my throat is really, you know, _really_ sore and-"

Mrs. Franklin tore off a yellow hall pass from the pad on her desk. "Why don't you finish that thought in the nurse's office, okay?" She handed Brian the pass and offered him a smile. "I hope you feel better."

Brian let out a deep breath. "Um, yeah, thanks. I'm sure I will, you know, after I see the nurse and all." He nodded nervously at his teacher and went back to his desk.

When he was finally out in the hall, Brian wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Was he actually supposed to go to the nurse's office? Would she be able to tell he was lying just by looking at him? If he didn't go, what was he going to do for the rest of the period? Sit in the bathroom?

Brian sighed. Apparently, he just wasn't cut out for this whole lying thing.

When he turned the next corner, Brian was greeted with a very strange and somewhat disturbing sight. It was Bender and Claire and they were pushed up against a row of lockers, making out. Brian felt his face grow very warm and he glanced away, walking past them as quietly as he could to prevent them from hearing.

"Brian!"

Brian looked back to see Claire staring at him, eyes wide with horror. Bender looked over his shoulder and smirked. "You enjoy the show?"

Claire pushed Bender away and straightened her shirt, which was riding up a bit in front. Brian cleared his throat and looked away for a moment as they collected themselves. "I was just, you know, going to the nurse's office," he said, eyes flickering over the wall of lockers opposite Claire and Bender. "But, I mean, I'm not sick or anything. It's just that I was trying to memorize vocabulary for my next Latin quiz, which is on Friday, and I just couldn't concentrate so I-"

"Dork."

Brian looked back at Bender, who was staring at him. "Yeah?"

"No one cares."

"Oh… _oh_." Brian's eyes widened and he took a step backwards. "Yeah, I'm just gonna… I'd better hurry if I'm going to… I'll just leave you guys alone."

"No, it's okay." Claire stepped away from Bender and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was just leaving."

Brian glanced over at Bender, who was glaring at him. "Sorry," he mouthed. Bender's expression didn't change and Brian cleared his throat. "Well, then, I-"

He was interrupted by a burst of sound from the hallway he'd just come from. He glanced over at Bender and Claire, but they looked just as confused as he was. Brian walked over to the edge of the row of lockers behind him and looked around the corner.

It was Vernon. He was standing in front of large trophy case, admiring his reflection in the glass. After a couple of seconds, he curled his left arm into a bodybuilder pose and squeezed his bicep with his right hand. Brian furrowed his brow in confusion as Vernon then lifted his right arm into the air as well, pretending to lift a heavy weight above his head. "Arrggghhhh!" he roared, grimacing as though in pain.

Brian looked back at Bender and Claire, who were watching him expectantly. "It's Vernon," he whispered.

Bender started laughing quietly and Claire smacked him on the shoulder. "Be quiet!" she hissed.

Brian turned away from them and peeked around the corner again. Vernon had stepped away from the trophy case and was moving slowly in their direction, swinging his arms beside him and letting his hands smack together loudly when they met in front of his chest. Brian jerked back from the wall and looked back at the others, panicked. "He's coming!" he whispered.

Claire's eyes widened and she looked over at Bender. Bender looked around for a route of escape and settled on the boy's bathroom a few yards down the hall. The door closed quietly behind him just as Vernon rounded the corner.

He stopped short when he saw them, narrowing his eyes. "What are you two doing here?" he asked, suspiciously. As if the homecoming queen and the secretary of the Math Club were setting up pipe bombs together in the middle of the hallway.

Claire held up her hall pass. "Running errands for Mrs. Lucas."

Vernon looked over at Brian, who was standing there mutely, afraid to move. "Well? What about you?"

Brian thrust his hand into the air, hall pass waving gently. "Nurse's office." When Vernon narrowed his eyes even further, Brian swallowed deeply. "I was, um, I was sitting in class. Study hall, you know? And, uh, I started feeling really nauseous. Actually, it wasn't really nauseous. It was more like shooting pains in my stomach-"

"Alright!" Vernon looked over at Claire. "Well, don't just stand there. Get moving." He glanced over at Brian again, nostrils flaring slightly. "And you. Go…" He waved a hand in the air. "… go do whatever you need to do." He glanced back and forth between them once more and continued down the hall.

Claire glanced over at Brian and gave him a small smile, releasing a deep breath. "That was close," she whispered.

Brian nodded. "I know. I'm just glad that…" His voice trailed off as he looked over Claire's shoulder, where he had a clear view of Vernon walking down the hall. Claire frowned and turned around, following his line of vision.

Together, they watched Vernon push open the doorway to the boy's bathroom and walk inside.

* * *

A/N: Please review! I love, love, love hearing your thoughts, even if it's just a line or two. It means so much. Thanks! 


	49. Hell On Wheels

A/N: Thanks so much for reviewing! Hope you enjoy this chapter. It's extra long, yay!

* * *

Chapter Forty-nine: Hell on Wheels

* * *

Brian and Claire watched in horror as Vernon disappeared into the boys' bathroom and let the door close behind him.

Claire turned to Brian, panicked. "You have to go in there!"

Brian looked back at her, eyes wide. "Me? Why? Why do I have to go?"

Claire's brow wrinkled in disbelief. "Who else is going to go, _me_? Brian, you have to go make sure Vernon doesn't see him."

Brian glanced over at the bathroom door. "Well, if he was going to see him, it probably would have happened by now."

Claire didn't say anything, but her eyebrow was arched in challenge and her eyes told him that he might earn a heel to the gut if he didn't comply with her demands. He swallowed. "Yeah, okay."

Brian walked quickly towards the bathroom door and pushed it open, stepping into the room. He could see the bottom half of Vernon's legs poking out from the first stall, but there didn't appear to be anyone else in the room… which was a good thing. He paused by the door for a moment, unsure of what Claire expected him to accomplish by going in there. Obviously, Bender had done this sort of thing before and could handle it by himself; he didn't need Brian to swoop in and save the day.

Brian moved over in front of the stalls and pushed open the last one. Bender was crouched on the toilet seat, an unlit cigarette dangling from his upper lip and a panicked expression on his face. When he saw that it was only Brian he let out a breath and rolled his eyes, then motioned for him to close the door again. Brian did as he was told and moved into the middle stall.

The three of them sat in relative silence for a couple of minutes before Vernon started whistling 'YMCA'. Brian frowned and glanced to his left, wondering if Vernon realized that there were other people in the bathroom with him. It continued for about fifteen seconds before Brian heard something very strange indeed.

To his right, Bender started whistling along with Vernon. Brian glanced over at the wall separating them, eyes wide with shock and fear. He heard Vernon pause for a moment, but Bender kept whistling, eventually diving into the chorus again. Vernon shifted a bit in the stall, then picked up the tune again, obviously thinking that it was Brian whistling along with him. Brian glanced back and forth between the two stalls, completely bewildered.

It was, without a doubt, the strangest moment of his entire life.

After a few seconds of shock, he leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand, bobbing his head in time to the "music" and tapping his foot on the floor. The whistling carried on for another thirty seconds or so, according to his digital watch. He was actually starting to enjoy himself when something clattered onto the floor to his right.

His heart skipped a beat when he looked down beside him to see a small metal lighter sitting on the floor a few inches from his right sneaker. The whistling stopped immediately on both sides and Brian reached down and swooped up the lighter, depositing it in his trouser pocket. To his left, Vernon stood and flushed the toilet, then walked out of the stall and over to the sink to wash his hands. Brian let out a silent breath, relieved that they hadn't been caught. Vernon moved towards the door, then paused. Brian could see that his shoes were pointing towards them and he knew that Vernon was staring at the stall doors. After a few seconds, he took a small step in their direction.

Brian jumped up and, flushing the toilet for added realism, flung open the door to the stall. The door caught Vernon straight in the face and he shouted in pain.

"Oh, my God!" Brian's mouth dropped open at the sight of his vice principal doubled over in front of him, clutching his face. "Are you, I mean, oh, my God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to… are you okay? Do you need a-"

"Shut up!" Vernon stood up straight and Brian could see a trickle of blood coming from his nose. "Just shut… _up_." He took a deep breath, hand still pressed against his nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding. "Get me a paper towel," he croaked.

Brian ran over to the paper towel dispenser and grabbed a large handful of them. He brought them over to Vernon, who pressed them up against his nose. Brian watched him warily for a moment. "Do you need me to-"

"No." Vernon held up his free hand. "Just… just stay away." Then he turned and walked out the door.

Brian let out a deep breath and let his head fall in his hands. First the flare gun, now this. How many people can say that they shot up the school and gave their vice principal a bloody nose all in the space of two weeks? And, oh God, his parents. Was Vernon going to tell them what happened? Was he going to get another detention? His mom was already mad enough about the F; he'd be grounded forever if she found out about this, too. But, really, it was an accident, so-

"That… was awesome."

Brian looked up at see Bender standing a couple of feet away, grinning at Brian and shaking his head. "In fact, _you_…" He stepped forward. "…are almost cool now."

Brian's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I said almost." Bender held out his hand. "Lighter?"

"Oh, right." Brian dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out the lighter, which Bender immediately used to light the cigarette in his other hand. "What are you doing?"

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" Bender took a drag on the cigarette and looked back at Brian. "For a smart kid, you sure can be stupid sometimes."

Brian rolled his eyes. "I knew what you were doing. I just meant that you aren't supposed to smoke in the building."

Bender pretended to look stunned. "No, really?" He rolled his eyes and removed the pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. "You want one?"

Brian shook his head. "No, I don't smoke. I mean, I couldn't ever do that, you know, at school or anything…" He trailed off when he saw Bender staring at him skeptically, most likely thinking about the four of them smoking weed in the library that Saturday. Brian sighed. "Yeah, okay."

Bender handed him the cigarette and lit it for him. Brian looked at it curiously for a moment before putting it up to his lips and taking a tiny drag. He almost started coughing, but managed to keep it in, knowing how uncool it looked when people couldn't "hold their smoke". Perhaps his experiences in detention had taught him something after all.

Brian took a couple more drags and looked up at Bender, who was leaning against the wall, staring at the sink. "Um, Claire's waiting for us."

Bender looked over at him. "What?"

"I said Claire's waiting for us. Maybe we should, you know, go back out there."

Bender paused thoughtfully for a moment, his mouth curling into a slow smile. "Nah." He looked back at Brian and grinned. "Let her worry for a while."

* * *

Claire looked up at the clock again, more annoyed than worried by then. It had been nearly ten minutes since she'd sent Brian into the bathroom after John and she wondered what was taking them so long.

When Brian had first disappeared through the door, she'd moved into the hallway that Brian and Vernon had come from, poking her head around the corner so that she could see when they came out. Nothing happened for about a minute, which was a good thing, she supposed. After a few more minutes, she heard a toilet flush and someone turned on the faucet. She hung back, expecting Vernon to emerge from the bathroom, but he never came. Instead, she heard the sound of another toilet flushing, quickly followed by the sound of someone screaming. Claire panicked, but forced herself to stay put. There was nothing that she could accomplish by running in there with them.

A minute later, Vernon came out of the bathroom, a bundle of paper towels pressed up against his face. Claire, who was relieved that the screaming hadn't come from Brian or John, had to force herself not to collapse into a pile of giggles imagining what had happened to him… and which of the boys was responsible. When Vernon turned the next corner at the end of the hall, Claire came out from behind the row of lockers to wait for John and Brian.

Four minutes later, she was still waiting. She looked up at the clock again, watching the second hand this time. She could go in probably. There wasn't anyone else in there, so it wasn't like she would get caught. Then again, the boys' bathroom? She could think of about a million places she'd rather be and most of them were discount clothing stores. She sighed. Ten more seconds and-

Suddenly, the bathroom door pushed open and Brian and Bender walked out. Claire stepped forward. "What happened? Why were you in there for so long?"

Bender wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You want to know why I was in the bathroom for so long? This is a new low, Princess, especially for you."

Claire rolled her eyes. "What happened to Vernon?"

Bender grinned and glanced over at Brian. "Why don't you ask Rambo over here?"

Claire looked over at Brian, who was blushing, but also trying not to smile. She grinned. "What did you do?"

"Nothing. I _accidentally_ hit him in the face with a stall door."

Claire laughed and shook her head. "Well, I'm glad you're both alright."

Bender looked up at the clock. "Either of you hungry?"

Claire put a hand on her rumbling stomach. "Yeah." She looked over at Brian, who nodded also.

Bender looked over at Claire thoughtfully. "You got a car?"

Claire narrowed her eyes. "It's my Dad's. Why?"

Bender grinned and clapped his hands together. "Perfect. Let's go get pizza."

Claire's mouth dropped open. "We can't go get pizza!"

Bender rolled his eyes. "Fine, burgers." He looked over at Brian. "What about you? Which do you prefer?"

Brian shifted uncomfortably. "Um, pizza, but I don't think I can go."

"Why not?"

Brian sighed. "My mom got my report card in the mail this morning."

"So?"

"So, if I get caught sneaking off campus I'll be in more trouble than I am already."

"You won't get caught."

Brian looked up at Bender. "How do you know?"

"Because you're with me." He shot him a cocky grin. "I know this school inside and out. I never get caught."

Brian paused, obviously torn. Finally, he looked back at Bender and sighed. "Yeah, okay."

Bender looked over at Claire expectantly. "Well, Princess?"

Claire hesitated. She knew she shouldn't do it. There were a million reasons to say no and every single one of them were on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to be used as an excuse. But when she looked back and forth between Brian and John, she realized that she didn't care about a single one of those excuses. Before she could stop herself, she adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder and sighed. "Fine. Let's go."

* * *

When they arrived out in the parking lot, Bender looked over at Claire and held out his hand. "Keys."

Claire turned her nose up disdainfully. "You're not driving."

"Yes, I am."

"It's my father's car!"

"I don't care whose goddamn car it is. I don't trust a woman behind the wheel."

Claire glared at him. "That's so sexist."

John smirked, glancing over at Brian and then back to Claire. "Sex_ist_ or sex_y_?"

Claire narrowed her eyes at him. "Sexist."

John nodded slowly. "Hmmm, interesting. That's not what you said earlier in the hall."

"I never said _anything_ to you in the hall!"

"Or yesterday in the girls' bathroom. You know, when you were sitting on my lap and we were-"

Claire threw the keys at Bender's chest and he caught them easily, anticipating the move. He held them up and gave Claire an innocent look. "Does this mean you _want_ me to drive now?"

Claire clenched her jaw. "Unlock the door."

"I'll take that as a yes." Bender looked over at Brian, who had turned a rather vibrant shade of pink during their argument. "Are you aware that the girls' bathrooms have tampon dispensers?"

Brian face became even rosier. "What? I don't-"

"Yeah. Right where the urinals would be. Amazing. I looked over at Claire and I said-"

"Unlock the door!"

Bender turned to Claire, feigning irritation. "Excuse me. I'm telling Brian a story."

"Just un_lock_ the _door_!"

Bender smirked; he was enjoying this way more than he had any right to. "Fine." He opened the driver's side door and slid inside, reaching over to unlock Brian and Claire's doors as well. They all slipped on their seatbelts and got comfortable.

Bender put the key in the ignition and Claire glanced over at him apprehensively. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Bender waved her off. "Of course I do." He glanced down at the pedals, then back up at Claire. "Wait, which one's the gas pedal?"

Claire's eyes widened in fear and Bender smirked. "I was just kidding." Claire let out a sigh of relief and Bender rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, Princess. I'm not going to wreck Daddy's car."

Claire huffed and settled back into the seat. "This was a bad idea."

Bender rolled his eyes. "The car's probably safer with me in the driver's seat than you."

"You're so arrogant!"

"It's not arrogance if I'm right."

Claire unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. "That's it. I'm driv-" Before she could finish her sentence, Bender put the car in Reverse and backed out of the parking spot. Claire cried out in surprise, but Bender ignored her and shifted into Drive, taking off down the center aisle.

Claire looked over at him as she rebuckled her seatbelt. "You're such a jerk."

Bender glanced over at her as he stopped at the end of the aisle leading out to the street. "Now, honey. Let's not fight."

Claire blushed furiously and settled back into the seat. Bender grinned and pulled out onto the road, eyes flickering up to the rearview mirror, where he could see Brian sitting in the backseat, looking out the window. "You okay back there?"

Brian looked up. "Oh. Yeah, I'm fine." He turned in his seat and leaned forward, putting a hand on the seat in front of him. "Hey, Claire?"

Claire shifted around. "Yes?"

"Did you turn in your permission slip?"

Bender looked over at Claire, eyes narrowed in confusion. Claire glanced over at him quickly, then back at Brian. "Um-"

"Because it's due today."

"Yeah, I know."

Bender kept his eyes on the road. "Permission slip for what?"

"The convention," said Brian just as Claire said, "Nothing."

Bender looked into the rearview mirror again. "Convention?"

Brian nodded. "For the Physics Club. We're going to the Space Exploration and Technology Convention this Saturday. It's in Chicago and all of these really famous astronauts and astrophysicists are going to be there and they're going to give these presentations on-"

"What does that have to do with Claire?" Bender glanced over at Claire, who was sitting back in her seat, cheeks red with embarrassment. "Are you _going_?"

Claire clenched her jaw and let Brian answer for her. "She gets extra credit in physics if she goes."

Bender burst out laughing and Claire looked over at him, furious. "It's not funny."

Bender ignored her and kept laughing. "Keep your eyes on the road!" she yelled, grabbing the steering wheel from him.

Bender straightened up and brushed her hand away. "So, when does this little field trip take place?"

"On Saturday," offered Brian.

Bender didn't even try to hide his amusement. He looked over at Claire, who was clearly not enjoying this. "Why didn't you tell me about this, Claire?"

"Shut up."

"Did you ever stop to consider the fact that maybe I'd like to come, too?"

Claire glared at him. "You have detention… _honey_."

Bender smirked and looked back at the road. "It just would have been nice if you'd asked, is all."

Claire huffed and looked out of the window in front of her. Bender kept driving, eventually pulling up to a stop sign at a four-point intersection and making a left hand turn. Claire looked over at him, panicked. "You didn't use your turn signal."

Bender scoffed. "There wasn't anyone there."

"So? You still have to use it."

"She's right. It's a law."

Bender looked in the rearview mirror. "Shut up, Brainiac."

"Would you keep your eyes on the road!"

Bender looked over at Claire again, irritated. "Would you shut up!"

"The road!"

"I see it!" He looked back at Claire again. "I see it, okay? It's right in fucking front of me!"

Claire closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the seat. "God, I'm going to be in so much trouble if this car gets wrecked."

Bender sighed angrily and looked back at the road in question. "Don't worry. I'm not going to wreck your Daddy's precious car."

Claire sat up straight, eyes open again. "I just need you to be really careful, alright? This isn't a joke."

"Good, because I'm not laughing."

"Shut up, John."

"No, you shut up! You're driving me up a fucking wall."

"Just keep your eyes on the road then and I won't say anything."

Bender looked over at her, holding her gaze for a good five seconds without looking back at the road. Claire's eyes widened in anger and fear. "You asshole!"

Bender looked back at the road as Claire huffed, rustling in her seat. "You're too close to the right. Get over," she said, voice hard with anger.

Bender clenched his jaw. "It's fine."

"Actually, she's right."

Bender's eyes flickered over the rearview mirror. "Come again?"

Brian swallowed nervously. "Well, you went outside of the yellow lines a couple of times."

Bender glanced back behind him, incredulous. "Was that before or after she grabbed the wheel from me, nearly slamming us into a tree?"

Brian's eyes widened. "Um, after?"

"The road!"

Bender looked back at the road, too angry to say or do anything at that point.

"Would you please use your turn signal!"

"You know, you can actually get a ticket for, you know, um, not using your-"

"The right! You're too close!"  
"-turn signal when you change lanes. It's against Illinois State law and-"

"You nearly hit the guardrail!"

"-you can get fined up to one hundred dollars per offense."

"If you scratch the paintjob, my father is going to-"

"Or maybe it's fifty dollars. I can't really remember because it's been over a year since I took driver's ed-"

"-kill me! Get back over!"

"-but I think it's one hundred because I remembered thinking when I read it that one hundred dollars is a lot of money. Of course, it isn't as much as a speeding ticket. By the way, you're going six miles over."

"Slow down! Do you want to get us pulled over? My father would kill me!"

"Well, actually the driver is held responsible for speeding, so technically Bender would get the ticket, but-"

"SHUT UP!"

Bender slammed on the brakes, ignoring the sound of cars honking behind him. "Shut up! Just shut… the fuck… up!" He took a deep breath. "One more word from either of you and I'll sell the car to a fuckin' chop shop and use the money to plant twenty pounds of Coke in Brian's locker."

The car was so quiet that he could have heard a pin drop. Bender didn't look at either of them, but the shocked silence told him enough. He took one more deep breath and removed his foot off of the brake, starting off down the road again. No one said anything for a few seconds until Brian spoke up hesitantly from the back.

"Actually, I prefer root beer."

* * *

A/N: Don't worry, Andy and Allison will be back in the next chapter with some adventures of their own. In the meantime, review! Puh-lease? 


	50. The Art of Lying

A/N: I'm back! I had a pretty horrific case of writer's block, but I think I'm over it for the time being (big thanks to Angela for her help getting me through it). Just to ease your worried minds, I have absolutely no intention of abandoning this story. I will finish it, I promise. Just keep in mind that I am a college student with lots of papers and tests and homework and whatnot. Also, if you get bored waiting for the next installment, I've got some other stories up in this fandom that can help keep you occupied. You can find those on my author page or the BC main page. Anyway, hopefully I'll catch a break in my schedule and get more done for this story soon. Thanks for reading. : )

Also, you may need to refresh yourself on what's happened in previous chapters. I know it's a serial piece, but I want it to fit together as a whole, so I treat it as such. Just because I know you won't do it yourself: Brian, Claire and Bender went out for pizza during school, and Bender drove Claire's dad's car. Andy went over to Allison's house the night before. Andy is still fighting with his best friend, John.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty: The Art of Lying**

* * *

Bender pulled into the parking lot of Pete's A Pizza and found a spot near the front of the building. Brian walked into the restaurant, but Claire cut off Bender before he could even reach the sidewalk. "Keys," she said, holding out her hand. 

Bender looked down at her hand, unimpressed. "What about 'em?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Give them to me. I'm not letting you drive back."

Bender lifted an eyebrow and took a step forward. "_You_… aren't gonna _let_ me?"

Claire paused uncertainly as he got closer. "I'm driving," she said firmly.

Bender nodded understandingly and stopped when he was only a couple of feet away. "Why don't you just let me hang onto them for a while and we'll decide later."

"No! I want them now!"

Bender shrugged. "Alright, but you're gonna have to come get them."

Claire set her mouth in a firm line and stepped forward, reaching out for the keys. Bender smirked and stuffed the keys into his underwear.

"Take them out!" Claire hit Bender on the shoulder. "That's disgusting!"

Bender shrugged and grinned. "You want 'em out so bad, you do it. I _certainly_ don't mind."

Neither of them said anything, just glared at one another. Well, Claire was glaring; Bender couldn't keep the smirk off of his face. After a moment, she turned around and started walking back towards the restaurant. Bender grinned and removed the keys from his underwear, putting them into his jacket pocket.

* * *

As soon as the bell rang dismissing her from her fourth period class, Allison jumped from her seat and made a beeline for the door. Her teacher had handed out some ridiculous worksheet, as if they were in elementary school or something, but Allison hadn't even started it. Instead, she'd spent the entire period making a knot bracelet out of some colored string she'd found buried at the bottom of her bag. 

When she got to her locker, she plucked out her gum, which she'd been chewing since second period, and stuck it on her locker door. She was digging around in her bag for a fresh piece when she felt someone come up behind her.

"Hey."

Allison turned to see Andy standing a couple of feet away, gym bag slung over one shoulder. "Hi," she said, smiling despite her best attempts not to. "How are you?"

Andy shrugged, and Allison suddenly realized how tired he looked. "What's wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head angrily. "Nothing. I'm fine."

Allison knew he was lying, but she also knew that his bad mood probably had something to do with his fight with John, so she didn't press the issue. Instead, she nodded, and they stood there for a moment in silence, neither of them sure what to do or say. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to place her cold, pale hand against his flushed, angry cheek and lean forward to kiss him. She wanted to, but she didn't.

"I have to get to class," he said.

Allison nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Andy shifted nervously from one foot to another. "I'll call you later."

She nodded again, forcing herself to say something. "Okay."

Andy stood there watching her for a minute, then stepped forward. When they were only inches apart, he leaned in and kissed her. Allison's stomach fluttered pleasantly, and she kissed him back, her emotions flooding with equal parts fear and desire. She didn't know how long they stood there kissing--though it probably wasn't more than a few seconds--but when Andy pulled away, Allison couldn't help but feel more than a little bit disappointed.

"I have to get to class," he said again, softer this time since she was only a few inches away.

Allison's response was the same as the time before. She nodded, unable to speak.

Andy swallowed visibly. "But I _will_ call you later," he promised.

Again, Allison could only nod.

He shot her a soft smile, then stepped backwards, nearly knocking someone over with his gym bag. Allison suddenly realized that everyone in the hallway was watching them. No, _gawking_ at them.

Andy didn't seem to notice. He nodded briefly, then started walking down the hall, disappearing immediately into the crowd. Allison watched him leave, then turned back to her locker, unwilling to let a couple dozen nosy high school students ruin her moment.

* * *

Brian took another bite of his pepperoni pizza and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. "This is really good pizza," he said, looking up at Claire, who was using a fork and knife to cut her pizza into tiny bites. "Have you ever eaten here before?" 

Claire looked up. "No, I don't really eat pizza that much."

"Yeah, me neither." Brian glanced at his watch for about the eightieth time since they'd arrived at the restaurant. "So, do you think they're wondering where we are?"

"Who?"

"Well, you know, like our teachers and stuff."

Claire shrugged. "Maybe."

"Because I've never skipped class before. Do they give you detention for that?"

Claire shrugged again. Bender didn't even look like he was paying attention.

"I mean, it would be really bad if I got another detention, you know, after that last one, but it's kind of fun being here since we're not supposed to be off campus because I've never been off campus during school hours. Well, except for field trips and stuff." He took another bite of his pizza, then looked down at his watch and started talking again as he chewed. "It's fifth period now, and I'm supposed to be in gym. I'd probably still be getting dressed, though, so no one has noticed that I'm gone yet. But if he notices, is he going to tell the principal right away or is he just going to think I'm sick? Because then the office will look at the records and see that I was there in the morning, but not during gym and then they'll know I was skipping and give me a detention maybe." He swallowed the pizza in his mouth and looked back up at Claire and Bender, who were eating in silence. "But this is kinda fun, huh?"

Claire smiled sweetly, but didn't say anything. Bender was just staring at him with a bored expression on his face.

Brian wiped his mouth with a napkin. "So, what class do-"

Suddenly, Claire jumped in her seat, her knee hitting the underside of the table and sending Brian's root beer tumbling over. Brian grabbed a handful of napkins and began soaking up the mess, then glanced over at Claire, concerned. "Are you okay?"

Claire looked at Bender, eyes blazing with anger. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, gritting her teeth.

Bender lifted his eyebrows and looked over at Brian. "Some people are so clumsy."

Claire opened her mouth to say something, but Bender beat her to the punch. "So, how'd you break your arm?" he asked Brian.

Brian paused, setting the wet napkins aside. "Well, uh…" He glanced over at Claire, who smiled knowingly. "Well, you see, there was this kitten. I mean, it was our kitten. Snowball. It's my sister's cat, you know? It got stuck in the tree outside of our house and my sister, she was, like, crying and stuff, and she wanted me to get the cat, so I climbed the tree and, um, you know, got the cat and all, but then when I jumped down, I, uh, I landed funny on my arm and I broke it."

Bender just stared at him. "You were saving a kitten," he echoed.

Brian shifted nervously in his seat. "Uh, yeah."

"From a tree."

Brian nodded quickly. "Yeah, it was, um, it was a maple tree."

"And that's how you broke your arm."

"Yeah."

Bender sat back in his seat and shook his head sadly. "Brian, Brian, Brian…"

Brian panicked. "What?"

Bender just kept shaking his head. "I have so much to teach you."

Brian frowned. "About what?"

"Lying."

Brian's eyes widened. "What? I'm not lying! I really…I mean, my sister was really upset and crying and I couldn't just stand there, you know?"

Bender nodded understandingly. "It's okay. I get it. It's a good line."

Brian started shaking his head again. "It's not a line, I swear."

"Every guy's done it," Bender assured him.

Brian paused. "Really?"

Bender nodded and looked over at Claire. "Girls love shit like that, don't they, Claire?"

Claire just glared at him. "No," she said coldly.

Bender frowned doubtfully. "Come on. Bravery, heroism, sensitivity. It turns you on, doesn't it?"

Claire flushed deeply. "No, it doesn't," she said firmly.

But Bender was unfazed. "So, let me get this straight. If I saved your cat from a tree, you wouldn't even have sex with me as a _thank you_?"

Claire reached out and slapped Bender on the shoulder. "That's disgusting!"

Bender lifted an eyebrow. "It's a simple courtesy. You of all people should know that."

Brian, who could tell that Claire was about to explode with anger, jumped in before the situation became violent. "Well, I, uh, I didn't do it so I could get girls to, you know…to sleep with me or whatever," he said, his face warm with embarrassment.

Bender was still watching Claire with an amused expression on his face as she glared at him. "No, no, of course not," he responded distractedly.

"I didn't."

Bender stared at Claire for another moment before he smirked and looked away, refocusing his attention on Brian. "Whatever. It's a good story, but you're still gonna have to work on presentation."

Brian narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Bender let his arm settle across the back of the booth, right behind Claire's head. "You've got a good story, and it seems like you've memorized all the facts, but no one's gonna believe you if your delivery is off.

Brian frowned. "Delivery?"

"No one's gonna buy your story if you don't know how to sell it."

Brian frowned. "I don't get it."

Bender shrugged and picked up another slice of pizza. "You've gotta believe your own story. If everyone believes that you believe it, then they'll believe it, too."

Brian considered this for a moment. "Okay, so how do I do that?"

Bender took another bite of pizza and chewed thoughtfully. "You've just got to be able to stand your ground. You can't give them a reason to doubt what you're telling them."

Brian nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay." He took a deep breath. "I can do that."

Bender nodded and glanced over at Claire, who was listening to the conversation as she finished her pizza. He watched her eat for a minute before speaking.

"Hey, Claire?"

She looked up, waiting for him to continue.

"What if it was a bunny rabbit?"

Claire didn't say anything, just glared at him. Half a second later, Bender yelled out, jumping away from her and slamming his knee into the bottom of the table, this time causing his own drink to tumble over. "OW!"

As Bender tended to his wounded foot and Claire pulled out a file to work on her nails, Brian made a mental note to never date a girl that wore high heels.

* * *

A/N: I really appreciate everyone who has given me feedback about this story and I'm so glad that you're enjoying it. I don't know when I'll have the next one out, but it probably won't be until my finals are over in a couple of weeks. So, be patient and, uh, check out my other stories. : ) 

Oh, and please review!


	51. Small Talk

A/N: The dreaded writer's block strikes again! I'm not over it entirely, but I'm working on it, so please have patience with me. Also, this is a pretty short chapter, which I apologize for. Andy and Allison are, sadly, not in this chapter. However, you'll see a lot of them in chapters 52 and 53, which I hope to get posted soon.

For those of you keeping up with my story 'All My Friends…', I'm going to try to post a new chapter for that one before I go back to school next week. For readers of my 'Friday' story, Iam postingchapter 14 tonight.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-One: Small Talk**

* * *

Claire finished eating her pizza rather quickly, but Brian and Bender took their time, eventually finishing off all but a few pieces of breadsticks and the last piece of pizza. They reached for the piece of pizza at the same time, then stopped, exchanging wary glances.

Brian cleared his throat nervously. "Wow, I'm, uh…I'm stuffed."

Claire looked over at Bender, who smirked. "Yeah, me, too," he said. "Why don't you finish off the last piece for us? Wouldn't want to waste a perfectly good slice of pizza."

Brian hesitated. "No one else wants it?"

Bender settled back into the booth and waved his hand dismissively, granting Brian permission to go ahead and take it. Brian smiled and plucked the piece from the plate, then looked up at Claire. "So, are you excited about the convention?"

Claire glanced over at Bender, who was watching her expectantly. She looked back at Brian. "Yeah, of course. What about you?"

Brian nodded emphatically. "We've been looking forward to this trip for months…you know, Larry and David and I. Those are my friends from the Physics Club. I mean, we're friends anyway, but we're all in the Physics Club together, too. But, um, you'll get to meet them when you come on Saturday."

Claire nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Actually, I hope it's okay, but I invited someone to come with us."

Brian's eyes went wide. "Really? Who?"

"My friend Clarissa. She really likes science, so I just thought…" She cleared her throat. "I hope that's okay."

Brian nodded excitedly. "Yeah, that's fine. I mean, it's good or…that'll be fun, you know? The more people, the better it'll be."

Claire smiled. "Yeah." Suddenly, she felt something brush against her leg, and she looked down to see Bender's fingers skimming over the lace trim of her skirt. She pushed his hand away and glanced up at him, but he wasn't looking at her.

"So, how is Physics going, Claire?"

Claire looked up at Brian. "Oh, um…it's fine."

"You have a quiz coming up soon, don't you?"

Claire nodded. "Tomorrow."

"Have you started studying yet?"

Claire shook her head. "Not yet. I'll do it tonight."

"Are you finished with your pizza?"

The three of them looked up to see a young blonde woman standing in front of them. She nodded at the empty pizza dish. "Can I clear it for you?"

Claire nodded. "Yes, we're finished."

"Thanks." The waitress picked up a few dirty napkins and plates and deposited them in the center of the pizza dish, then picked up the entire thing and disappeared through the door to the restaurant's kitchen. A few seconds later, she came out again carrying a wet rag in one hand and started wiping down an empty table a few feet away.

"Hey, dork."

Brian looked up. "Yeah?"

Bender tilted his head to the left, nodding in the waitress's direction. "Remember what we were talking about earlier? About getting people to believe your stories?"

Brian hesitated. "Um, yeah."

Bender jerked his head in the waitress's direction once more. "Go ahead."

Brian glanced behind him to get a better look, then turned back to the table, eyes wide. "I'm not going to…I mean, I can't-"

"Sure you can. Just go talk to her."

Brian swallowed nervously. "What do I say?"

Bender shrugged. "Who cares? Make something up. Tell her your story about the cat again."

Brian glanced over at the waitress once more, then sighed and stood from the table. He brushed a few crumbs from his shirt, then looked back at Bender and Claire, hesitating

Bender nodded firmly. "Go on."

Brian rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. Bender and Claire sat there for a moment in silence, watching him. After a few seconds, Bender scooted closer to Claire, then reached out and slid his hand across her lower back.

* * *

Brian cleared his throat. "Um, excuse me."

The waitress turned around to look at him. She was young--probably not even old enough to drink--and very pretty, with delicate features and bright blue eyes. "Yes?"

"Um…" Brian just stared at her, not sure of what he was supposed to say. "That table looks nice."

The waitress frowned. "Excuse me?"

Brian could feel his face turning red. "I just mean that, um, you did a great job…you know, cleaning it."

The girl lifted her eyebrows in surprise. "Um, thanks."

Brian nodded. "You're welcome." He glanced down at his arm, then lifted it in the air so that she could see it. "I, uh, I broke my arm."

The waitress looked a bit confused, and her eyes flickered down to his cast, then back up to his face. She didn't say anything, just waited for him to go on.

"I, um…I was saving a kitten…from a tree."

The girl just kept staring at him. After a moment, the corners of her mouth turned up in a slow smile. "A kitten, huh?"

Brian let out a deep breath. "Yeah."

The waitress nodded slowly. "I like kittens."

Brian could feel himself starting to smile. "You do?"

The girl nodded again, then smiled for real. "You got a marker?"

* * *

Claire felt her pulse quicken when Bender pressed his palm firmly against her waist, running his thumb lightly over the bottom edge of her shirt. After a few seconds, he slipped his index finger under the hem and brushed his cold fingertips over her stomach.

Claire reached down to push his hand away. "Hey, cut it out."

Bender looked up. "What?"

"Stop doing that. We're in public."

"So?"

Claire felt his fingers brush against the small of her back, and she pulled away. "So, don't do that when we're in front of people."

Bender cocked an eyebrow. "So, I should wait until we're alone before I do it?"

She blushed. "You know what I mean."

"Princess, I don't think _you_ even know what you mean."

Claire glared at him, and Bender smirked and turned back to his pizza. Claire watched him eat for a moment, studying the planes of his face and the dark locks of hair that fell over his ears. She let her eyes drift down to his callused hands with lines of dirt beneath the nails and orange pizza grease on the pads of his fingers. She liked his hands; she liked how rough they felt when he slid them over the delicate skin of her waist or throat.

After a moment, she looked back up at his face. If he had noticed her watching him, he didn't show it.

* * *

"And then she told me that she had a cat at home, and that she thought I was really brave for rescuing one like that. Not that I really did that…rescue a cat, I mean. But she thought I did. Her name is Natalie. Isn't that cool?"

Bender opened the door leading into the school and let Claire and Brian pass through. Brian, who was still admiring the waitress's signature on his cast, nearly tripped over his shoelaces, but caught himself just in time. Bender just rolled his eyes and followed them down the hall.

"So, who are those breadsticks for?"

Bender looked down at the box of leftover breadsticks in his hand, then back up at Brian. "Me."

"Oh." Brian paused, then looked down at his watch. "So, fifth period is almost over by now. There's only fifteen minutes left. Do you think I should go or just wait until next period? Because if I go, my gym teacher's going to want to know why I was late, but if I don't go then I'm going to have an absence for that class, and then my parents will find out I skipped, and I'll get another detention again maybe. I really can't get another detention again. My parents would-"

Bender stopped and put a hand on Brian's shoulder to silence him. "Breathe."

Brian hesitated, then took a deep breath.

Bender nodded. "Okay, here's what you do, alright? Go to class and tell them that you were in the nurse's office. When they ask for your pass, tell them that you were too busy throwing up to remember to ask for it. Trust me, they won't press you for details."

Brian paused. "Really? Are you sure?"

Bender clapped him on the back. "Positive."

Brian nodded. "Okay, thanks." Then he smiled. "But that was really fun, huh?"

"A blast. Now go before Vernon finds you and sues you for wreckin' his nose job."

Brian's eyes went wide. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. I'd better go. I'll see you guys later. Bye, Claire."

Claire looked up. "What? Oh. Bye, Brian."

Brian waved at both of them and started off in the direction of the gymnasium. Bender looked over at Claire, who hadn't said more than three words since they'd left the pizza parlor. "Where's your class?"

She looked over at him, startled. "Sorry?"

"Your class. Where is it?"

"Oh, um…" She looked down the hall to her left. "Just down there."

Bender nodded, and the two of them started walking. When they got to her classroom, she stopped and looked up at him. "Here."

He waited for her to open the door and go inside, but she didn't. He cocked an eyebrow. "You going?"

She took a deep breath. "Um, yeah."

"Well…" Bender tipped an imaginary hat in her direction. "Guess I'll see you around, Princess."

Without waiting for her response, he turned and started down the hall, going back the same way they'd just come from. After a couple of minutes, he came up to the janitor's closet. He set the box of breadsticks on the floor, then reached into his jacket pocket for a bobby pin. A few seconds later, the lock popped open, and Bender opened the door. He placed the breadsticks on the table in the center of the room and wrote Carl's name across the top of the box in big, bold letters, then went back out to the hall and closed the door, making sure that the lock was returned to its original position. Then he smiled to himself and started walking down the hall towards the boys' bathroom so that he could smoke a cigarette.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Next chapter will be longer. 


	52. Irreconcilable Differences

A/N: Sorry (AGAIN) for the huge delay. As much as I would love to focus on fan fiction 24/7, there is that whole college thing getting in the way, and it's probably wise that I focus on good grades since I may have to break down and get a real job at some point in the not-too-distant future. Please accept my apologies for future delays and remember that I'm not going to abandon this story.

Also, just to give you some perspective, this chapter takes place on Wednesday afternoon about a week and a half after that first detention. I've got about 20 or so chapters left for this story, and I'll do my best to post as quickly as possible. I'll be able to get more done during the summer, so stay tuned.

And I know I promised this chapter would be longer, but I guess I was lying. I had to go back and shift some stuff around, which messed up my chapter planning. Anyway, hopefully the next one will be longer? I know, I know, I say that every time…

**

* * *

**

Chapter Fifty-two: Irreconcilable Differences

* * *

"…as a critique of the American dream. Where do we see this in the novel?"

Allison ignored Mrs. Driscoll, her English teacher, and continued her art project. She'd grown tired of mountain ranges and cottages on flat white paper and had moved on to her fingernails, which she had covered in spirals and other 3-dimensional shapes with her blue and black ball point pens. She finished drawing a hexagon on her left pinky and glanced across the aisle.

The girl who had spoken to her the day before was sitting next to her again. Her long, messy blonde hair fell past her shoulders, the ends brushing against the front pockets of her worn denim jacket, which was covered in tiny pins and buttons and patches. Allison squinted to see what was written on them, but the only one she could read was a blue button that said 'Mondale for President'.

Mrs. Driscoll ended her class discussion over The Great Gatsby a few minutes before the bell rang and the students started packing their things to go home. Allison put away her pens and snuck a glance across the aisle again, but the girl was turned away from her, stuffing a notebook into her bright red messenger bag. Allison opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't think of anything original, so she blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "I like your buttons."

The girl turned towards her, surprised. "What?"

Allison felt her face getting hot. "Nothing."

The girl smiled. "Thanks."

"Oh."

"I'm Kate."

Allison hesitated. "I'm Allison."

Kate nodded. "It's nice to meet you."

Allison paused, trying to think of something interesting to say. "Where did you get your buttons?"

Kate looked down at the front of her jacket and shrugged. "Here and there. I have a friend in San Francisco that sends me a lot of stuff. You know, buttons, patches, bumper stickers."

Allison nodded, even though she pretty much had no idea what Kate was talking about. "Did you live there?"

Kate nodded. "A few years ago, but I just moved here from Texas."

Allison didn't know a single thing about Texas except what she'd seen and heard on television. "Oh."

Kate leaned back in her seat. "So, what-"

Before she could finish her sentence, the bell rang, dismissing them for the day. Kate gave Allison a reluctant shrug and slipped her bag over her shoulder. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Allison felt oddly disappointed. "Yeah."

Kate started walking down the aisle. Before she could stop herself, Allison blurted out, "Where do you eat lunch?"

Kate stopped and turned. "The cafeteria."

"Oh." Allison felt stupid. Of course she ate in the cafeteria. Only losers ate outside with the squirrels. She let her eyes flicker down to her shoes, then looked back up at Kate. "Well, if you want, you can sit with me and my friends." As soon as the words were spoken, she realized how strange they sounded coming out of her mouth. Inviting someone to hang out with her _and_ telling someone she had friends? If someone had told her two weeks ago that she'd be doing that, she would have laughed in their face. Or spit her fingernail at them.

Kate apparently didn't think it was weird at all. "Yeah, that would be cool."

Allison nodded. "Okay."

"Okay." Kate hesitated. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow then."

Allison nodded again, and Kate gave her a small wave as she continued down the aisle. After she disappeared out into the hallway, Allison let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

_Well, that wasn't so hard…was it?_

* * *

When the final bell rang, Andy jerked awake, cringing when he realized that his right arm was still asleep. He looked up at Mr. Petruzzi, who was glaring at him over the rim of his spectacles, obviously displeased that Andy had spent the entire period curled up on his desk instead of listening to his lecture over Pearl Harbor and the early years of World War II. Andy frowned, grabbed his bag from the floor, and walked out into the hallway.

He made his way down the hall, stopping at his locker to put his books away. He stood there for a moment trying to remember what books he would need to finish his homework that night, but his thoughts were so jumbled that couldn't remember a single assignment. Though his inability to stay awake probably had something to do with it, Andy knew that he couldn't blame it all on exhaustion. The day had passed so strangely, with time slowing down and speeding up at seemingly random intervals. He remembered kissing Allison in the hall, how everything else just faded into the background, the sounds of other students in the hallway muffled and distant. He remembered the lunch period he'd spent in the weight room eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the bench, alone. The room had been quiet except for the sound of one of the gym teachers screaming at her class, her voice so loud that he could hear every word through the set of double doors leading to the weight room. He had sat there chewing, staring at the paint-chipped wall, and wondered if this is what it felt like to be lonely.

After a few minutes, Andy gave up on trying to figure out which books he needed and grabbed his geometry book, which he always needed. He shoved it into his book bag, then closed his locker and started down the hall towards the gym.

He was about halfway down the hall when he spotted Bender fumbling with the combination at his locker. Andy paused, wondering if he should stop and say something. Before he'd decided anything, Bender glanced up from his locker, his eyes locking onto Andy's. Andy let out a deep breath, his jaw clenching reflexively, and walked over.

"Hey," he said calmly.

Bender nodded curtly and went back to spinning the combination wheel on his lock.

Andy watched him for a few seconds before speaking. "I heard what my friends did."

Bender didn't look up, but Andy could see that he was smiling as though Andy had said something funny. "Did you?" Bender asked, his tone giving nothing away.

Andy nodded. "Yeah."

Bender jerked up on the lock in his hand, and it popped open with an audible click. He opened the door and rummaged around inside for a moment, finally pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a tiny yellow plastic lighter, which he shoved into he pocket of his jeans. After a few more seconds of digging around, he shut the locker door and replaced the lock, then turned back to Andy. He didn't say anything, just waited for Andy to speak. Apparently he wasn't going to make this easy for him.

Andy sighed. "I wasn't involved. I didn't _tell_ them to do it."

Bender nodded understandingly, his eyes clouded over with fake concern. "I'm sure you didn't."

Andy narrowed his eyes. "Look, I don't know what they told you, but I had nothing to do with it. I didn't-"

"So, you didn't tell your friend _John_ what an asshole I am?" Bender's voice was light and teasing, but his eyes were as hard as flint. "You didn't say a _single word_?"

Andy paused uncomfortably, remembering the fact that he hadn't set the record straight about how he knew Bender and that Bender was, in some strange, twisted way, a friend.

Bender must have picked up on Andy's hesitation because he smiled, his eyes glowing with triumph and fury. "That's what I thought."

Andy felt his cheeks flush. "I didn't tell them to do it," he said firmly. "I didn't tell them that-"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sporto."

Andy felt the anger rise, fast and furious, hot and bubbling. "You fucking prick!"

Bender's cocky smile disappeared, and the two of them stood there, less than a foot apart, staring at one another, not moving, not blinking. Andy took in a few ragged breaths to gain control of himself, but it didn't work.

After a moment, Bender clenched his jaw, arrogance and anger fighting for control. "Your friends are real assholes, you know that?"

Andy waited.

Bender nodded. "And so are you."

Without saying anything else, Bender pushed past him and started walking down the hall, leaving Andy alone with his anger and his guilt.

* * *

A/N: Just for nerds like myself (I know you're out there!), there were indeed presidential elections in 1984. The primaries would have been over by the end of March, so Walter Mondale would have been the Democratic Party candidate for President at this time. Unfortunately for liberals like Kate, he lost to Ronald Reagan in November of that year. Sorry, Kate.

Please let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome.


	53. Don't Give Up

A/N: For those of you wondering about when Allison met Kate for the first time, check out Chapter 44: Out of Practice.

For this chapter, I apologize in advance for all of the angst. Also, I don't know flip about baseball history, so I looked up some of the information on wikipedia. And I decided that Andy and his father are Cubs fans because I refuse to glorify the White Sox after they defeated the Astros last season. It's my story, and I can be bitter if I want to.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Fifty-three: Don't Give Up

* * *

"So, now he's got you skipping school?"

Claire rolled her eyes and switched the phone to the other ear. "He didn't force me to do it. I wanted to. Besides, it's not like it's the first time."

"That's true," said Natasha. "But this time it wasn't because of a sale."

Claire reached for the nail file sitting on the edge of her night stand. "God, you make it sound like all I do is shop. I'm not that shallow."

"You're not?" Before Claire could respond, Natasha continued. "Listen, I've got to go. Michael's coming over to study."

Claire rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, right. Have fun."

"Good night."

Claire replaced the phone in its cradle and looked down at her nails, which were in serious need of a manicure. She'd need to call her manicurist in the morning to make an appointment to get them redone.

"…told you that we couldn't afford it right now…"

Claire looked up from her nails and over at her bedroom door, which was cracked open a few inches. Tentatively, she took a few steps towards the door and let her hand rest on the door jamb.

"…not what you said last time."

Claire swallowed deeply as her father's voice trailed up the staircase, louder and angrier than before. She pulled her hand away from the door jamb and shut the door, locking it behind her. Then she walked over to her bed and curled up against her pillow, tucking it under her chin like a child clinging to her favorite rag doll.

But the closed door didn't make the shouting go away, and neither did the pillow. After a few minutes, Claire reached for the phone next to her bed and dialed her brother's phone number.

Gary picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Gary?" Claire tried to blink back the tears, but it was so nice to hear his voice that she couldn't help herself. A tear spilled over onto her cheek, cutting a trail through the thin layer of foundation and blush.

"Claire?" Gary paused. "Is that you?"

Claire nodded, though of course he couldn't see her. "Yeah, it's me."

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Claire swallowed deeply and pushed herself up into a sitting position. "Mom and Dad are fighting."

"Oh." She could hear him rustling around on the other end of the line. "What's it about this time?"

"I don't know. It's about money, I think."

Gary paused. "Where are you?"

"In my room." Claire could feel her chin start to wobble. "I wish you were here."

Gary sighed. "I know, but I can't be."

"I know," she whispered.

"You know nothing's going to happen. They'll just argue for a long time and Dad will go into the bedroom and Mom will end up falling asleep on the couch, and then tomorrow morning they'll wake up and everything will be normal again. That's just what they do."

Claire leaned back against the headboard and took a few deep breaths to calm herself down. She wanted to tell him that it didn't matter what happened in the morning, or even later that night. She hated what was happening _right now_. The yelling and the screaming, the constant battles over jobs and money and _her_. It scared her in a way that she couldn't put into words, even if she tried.

Gary must have known that nothing he could say would help, so he didn't say anything at all, just stayed on the line with her as she breathed in and out, in and out.

The line was silent for nearly five minutes. Finally, Gary took a deep breath. "Are they still fighting?" he asked.

Claire exhaled slowly and listened for the sound of her parents screaming downstairs. "Yes."

Gary was quiet for a minute. "You should get some sleep."

"I can't sleep with them yelling."

"So, shut your door."

"It _is_ shut."

"Just try, okay?"

Claire blinked back a fresh wave of tears. "Okay."

"And don't worry. Everything will be fine."

"Okay."

"And maybe once school is over for you and work settles down a little bit, you can come into Chicago and visit."

Claire let out a muffled laugh, and the tears she'd choked back spilled onto her cheeks. "Okay."

"Now get some sleep, alright?"

Claire didn't want to hang up, but she nodded anyway. "Okay."

"Good night."

"Good night," she whispered. She listened for the click on his end, then replaced the phone in its cradle.

She lay there for a few minutes, listening to the voices outside of her bedroom door. Finally, she turned off the lamp on her night stand and curled into a ball at the edge of her bed. Her tears had dried, and they'd taken all of her energy with them. After a few minutes, she fell asleep, still clutching her pillow.

* * *

Andy was starting to understand why he never did his geometry homework the night before it was due.

For one thing, geometry was boring. Why the hell did he need to know the hypotenuse of a right triangle or whatever kind of triangle _had_ a hypotenuse? Maybe all of them did; he couldn't quite remember. But it didn't matter anyway because he would never need to remember. It was pointless.

Andy sighed and slammed his book shut, vowing to pick it up again in the morning during his German class. He stuffed the book into his backpack and went into the kitchen to get something to drink.

In the living room, his father was watching a baseball game on television. As Andy poured himself a glass of milk, he could hear his father yelling at the television set. "Bowa! What hell was that?"

Andy rolled his eyes and walked into the living room. His father glanced up when he walked in, but didn't say anything to his son. Andy sat down on the couch and glanced up at the screen. In the eighth inning, the Cubs were behind the San Diego Padres, seven to five.

"Was that McReynolds?" Andy asked his father.

Mr. Clark sighed. "Yeah. Would've got him at first if Bowa hadn't fumbled the goddamn ball."

Andy took a long sip of milk. "How did Sanderson do?"

Mr. Clark took a sip of water from his own cup and settled back into his seat. "Gave up a homer to Nettles in the third."

"Bases loaded?"

He shook his head. "Two on."

Andy shook his head. "Sanderson," he muttered.

Mr. Clark let out a sharp, derisive chuckle, but didn't say anything. The two of them fell into a companionable silence as the inning ended rather uneventfully and the game cut to a commercial. Andy snuck a glance over at his father, but the older man was staring at the television screen, eyes glazed over in exhaustion after a day at the construction site.

Andy and his father didn't talk much, but when they did, it was usually about sports. They both loved watching the games on television, and Mr. Clark knew more facts and figures for Chicago sports teams than anyone else in Illinois. When he was younger, Andy thought that his father was the smartest man alive, and he would brag to his friends that his father knew the batting average for every player for the Cubs, even the pitch hitters, that he could recite the Bulls' rosters for every year since 1962, that he could name every starting quarterback the Bears had ever played. He remembered attending baseball games with his father during the summers when he wasn't in school, falling asleep to the sound of his father rattling off stat after stat. As it was, Andy hadn't been to a game with his father since middle school.

"We're gonna have to keep our eyes on these guys."

Andy glanced over at his father. "Huh?"

Mr. Clark nodded at the screen. "I said we're gonna have to keep our eyes on the Padres this year. They're the ones to beat."

Andy frowned. "What about the Dodgers? They've got Guerrero and--"

"The Dodgers are goin' nowhere this season. I'm tellin you, it's the Padres." Mr. Clark took another sip from his glass of water and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "They've got Templeton and Nettles and Gossage, who's an asshole, but he can still hit. And Garvey's an old-timer, but he's got a few seasons left."

"And Gwynn," Andy added.

"Gwynn," Mr. Clark echoed. "God, what an athlete. He's dangerous."

"Great fielder," said Andy.

Mr. Clark nodded in agreement. "_Great_ fielder," he echoed.

Andy felt a small, but satisfying wave of pride sweep over him at his father's approving glance. He took another sip of milk, trying not to let it show how pleased he was that his father had agreed with him.

"But Sandburg, God," Mr. Clark continued. "He's a great pitcher, but if he doesn't get his head outta his ass, he's gonna blow the whole season for us."

Andy nodded his assent, and the two of them lapsed into silence once again. The ninth inning passed rather quickly, with the Cubs fighting to stay alive, but ultimately failing. When the last Chicago batter struck out, Andy's father sighed loudly and turned off the television.

"Well, goodnight, Sport," he said, rising from his chair.

Andy nodded. "Night, Dad."

Mr. Clark waved without turning back around, and Andy watched him disappear into the kitchen for a moment before heading down the hall towards the bedroom he shared with Andy's mother.

He hadn't even mentioned Andy's meet on Saturday.

Andy allowed himself a small smile before heading back to his own bedroom to finish his geometry homework.

* * *

Dinner at the Johnson home was even more uncomfortable than usual, which was really saying something. Brian's mother was still upset about his report card, which she'd received in the mail that morning during breakfast. She'd done a great deal of yelling and head shaking in the car before she dropped him off for school, but apparently she hadn't gotten all of it out of her system yet. Brian could feel her eyes on him as he ate, and every once in a while he would look up to find her watching him, her eyes hard and narrowed.

Any appetite he might have had went right out he window.

After dinner, Mrs. Johnson packaged up the leftovers and put them in the refrigerator. Brian's father helped him wash and dry the dishes, shooting him sympathetic looks that did nothing to assuage the tension gnawing at the lining of his stomach every time he thought about his mother's face. She didn't say anything to him as they worked, but Brian could see that her mouth was set in a firm line, which was never a good sign.

At about seven o'clock, he excused himself from he kitchen so that he could go to his room. "I've, uh…I've got some work to do," he said, glancing over at his mother.

"Homework?" she asked, not even looking up from the counter as she wiped up a puddle of water.

"Um, yeah. Just a…just a little bit."

She nodded curtly. "Get it done," she said frostily.

Brian nodded. "Yeah…I will." He nodded again, walking backwards out of the kitchen. "Thanks."

When he was back in his room, Brian let out a deep breath and walked over to his desk, where he'd left his Calculus textbook earlier in the evening. But instead of sitting down at his desk to finish the homework he'd started, he opened the top drawer and removed a small white envelope. He carried it over to his bed and sat down on the edge, letting his elbows rest on his knees. Then he pulled out Karen's letter--black cursive writing on smooth white paper--and started to read.

_Dear Brian,_

_Hi! I'm sorry that I haven't written to you in a while. School has kept me busy these last few weeks and I haven't time to do anything except eat, sleep and study. I know that you understand what I mean._

_Our house is a little but tense right now because my dad worried that he's about to lose his job. His company doing some restructuring and a couple of people have already been fired. His boss tells him that he may be transferred to a different part of the country, which wouldn't be that bad because there is really nothing keeping us in New York. Since Granddad passed away, we haven't had any family left in the area. I just really hope that he gets to keep his job, you know? I worry that he'll have to start looking again. Last time that happened, it was six months before he found anything, and I don't want him to have to go through that again._

_How is everything where you are? How are your classes going? I hope the stress isn't getting to you. I know that you worry about your grades, but don't give up, alright? You're one of the smartest people I know and I can just see you as a Physics professor at MIT or an engineer at NASA. Really, Brian, I know you can do it. Just a few weeks left until summer!_

_I've been taking a lot of pictures lately, so I sent you one. It was taken in the middle of Central Park on a really beautiful day. I wish you could have been there. Actually, I wish you could be here now. Maybe we can both convince our parents to take another trip to Niagara Falls… at exactly the same time. _

_Write soon._

_Love, Karen_

Brian read the letter about three times before he settled back onto the bed, resting his head against the headboard and staring up at the ceiling. He kept the letter clutched in his right hand, believing stupidly that if he let it go that the words would float away, leaving him all alone.

_Don't give up, alright?_

After a few minutes, Brian took a deep, steadying breath, rose from his bed, and went over to his desk to finish his Calculus homework.

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A/N: Please check my author page when you finish reading this. I've got some other Breakfast Club stories posted, including a couple of new ones. If you want to receive an email when I update this story or any of my others, put me on your author alerts. I've got lots of stuff planned for this summer, so stay tuned.

Please review. Thank you.


	54. Practical Joke

A/N: Wow, everyone was very opinionated about which characters they wanted to see in the last chapter, LOL. I apologize to anyone I disappointed and give you this chapter as a peace offering. Lots of Allison and Bender and Andy. Enjoy.

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Chapter Fifty-four: Practical Joke

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On Thursday morning, Bender woke to the sound of "For Your Love" by the Yardbirds blasting into his right ear. Confused, he made a few violent swipes at the air next to his nightstand, finally hitting his target: the radio alarm clock.

He lay there for a few minutes, trying both to go back to sleep and to figure out why he'd set his alarm in the first place. _School, something about school_…and then he remembered.

He dressed very quickly, throwing on the same jeans he'd worn the day before and a flannel shirt from a pile of semi-clean laundry on the top of his dresser. Then he grabbed his trench coat from the foot of the bed and scooted out the window.

When he arrived at school, the student parking lot by the athletic fields was all but empty. Bender checked his watch. 7:30. School didn't start for another thirty minutes, meaning that aside from the odd teacher or overzealous student, the school would be pretty quiet for the next few minutes. Which was exactly what he needed.

Bender pulled his supplies from his jacket pocket and got to work.

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Andy pulled into the student parking lot about fifteen minutes before the first bell rang. He spent a couple of minutes rummaging around in the back seat trying to find his water bottle, finally locating it under his seat, squashed between a dirty t-shirt and a bag of Cheetos. He stuffed the bottle into his gym bag and climbed out of the Bronco.

His friend Roy was standing just behind the vehicle, hands jammed into his pockets, waiting. When Andy came up beside him, Roy flashed him a warm smile and offered his hand. Andy hesitated, then reached out and slapped Roy's palm.

"I haven't seen you in forever, man."

Andy nodded. "I've been busy."

Roy nodded and ran a hand though his dark brown hair, a sign Andy recognized as one of nervousness. "So, are you, uh, you ready for the meet?" he asked.

Andy frowned. "Yeah, I guess."

"That's good."

Andy just watched him, waiting for Roy to tell him what going on…as if he couldn't guess. With their lingering silence towards one another, Andy and John were making the entire wrestling team as nervous as jackrabbits, and no one knew how they were supposed to act around them, including Roy, apparently. Not that this was any big surprise. Andy didn't think Roy had ever fought with anyone in his entire life. He was like a gigantic teddy bear; he looked like an Olympic athlete, but he was one of the nicest guys in the world and had all of the social graces of a five year old.

"So, uh, John looked pretty down yesterday, huh?"

Andy clenched his jaw. "I wouldn't know."

Roy nodded nervously. "So, are you guys not talking still?"

"No."

"Oh." Roy hesitated. "Well, it'll be okay."

Andy frowned and looked over at him. "What will?"

Roy paused, then continued uncertainly. "Well, you and John…it'll work out, you know?"

Andy just stared at him. "It'll work out?" he echoed.

Roy offered him a hesitant grin. "You guys need to just get over it. We're a team, remember? We're not supposed to fight _each other_."

Andy didn't respond. He adjusted the shoulder strap to his gym bag and opened the door leading into the school.

Roy followed him into the building, and neither of them spoke for a moment. Finally, Roy cleared his throat. "So, uh, how 'bout the Cubs, huh? Bad loss last night."

Andy nodded, relieved that the conversation about John was over and weary that the entire situation was far from it. "Yeah," he said emotionlessly. "Bad loss."

Roy started rambling about the Cubs' chances at making the championships--which Andy found very slim, if he was honest--and Andy tuned him out. After a couple of minutes of this, the two of them passed by the front entrance to the school, where a small crowd had gathered.

Roy walked up to Mark Evans, one of the varsity wrestlers, and hit him on the shoulder to get his attention. "What happened?"

Mark glanced over at Andy, then back at Roy. "Practical joke."

Andy craned his neck to see over the crowd of bystanders, but couldn't see anything. Roy started pushing through the crowd, and Andy followed him.

And then he saw it. Lining the wall were three framed portraits of school administrators, which included the district superintendent, the principal, and the vice principal. But one picture had been decidedly…improved. In his portrait, vice principal Vernon was now wearing a pair of white cotton briefs and a jock strap. Someone had super glued the underwear to his hips like a diaper and the jockstrap to his head like a party hat.

"…but it says 'Greene' on the label, man."

Andy looked over to see Caleb Greene and his friend Jordan Fawcett standing a couple of feet away, at the edge of the crowd. Jordan looked confused, but Caleb looked like he wanted to throw someone out the window.

"See?" Jordan asked, pointing to the underwear. "Right there."

"I know what it says, alright, Jordan?" Caleb responded angrily.

"So, they're yours, right?"

Caleb glared at him. "I don't know. Maybe."

Jordan nodded, considering this for a moment. "I think that might be my jock strap," he decided finally.

Caleb rolled his eyes. "And what makes you think that?"

"Because it has my name on it."

Caleb sighed wearily and rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. "Any other reason?" he asked sarcastically.

Jordan nodded. "Yeah, I lost mine earlier this week. Just disappeared from my bag, like--"

"Yeah, that's great," said Caleb, cutting him off.

Jordan frowned. "So, who do you think did it?"

Caleb looked up at the portrait, the expression on his face as hard as flint. "I think I have a pretty good idea," he said quietly.

Jordan's eyes widened. "Really? Who is it? Because I have a pretty good idea, too, but I don't--"

"Jordan, can you do me a favor?" Caleb interrupted.

Jordan nodded enthusiastically. "Sure, man. Anything."

"Shut up."

Jordan paused for a moment, confused. Then he nodded and looked back up at the portrait of Vernon.

Andy watched the two of them for a moment, thinking. He had a pretty good idea who had done it, too.

"Bender, you fucking idiot," he muttered.

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Allison's father dropped her off at school approximately ten minutes before the first bell rang. She watched him drive off, then made her way up the steps to the front entrance of the school.

When she opened the front door, she noticed that a huge crowd had gathered in the front hall. They were all staring at the wall right next to the trophy cases, some of them pointing and laughing. Curious, Allison moved closer to the crowd so that she had a better view of the object of such hilarity.

Immediately, Allison understood what was so funny, and she reached up to clamp a hand around her mouth before her laughter escaped. Bender had made good use of the underwear and jock strap that she'd given him, alright. With the jockstrap on his head and the underwear covering his crotch, Vernon looked like an insane party-goer who'd had a few too many cups of punch.

"What's going on here?"

Allison looked up just in time to see Vernon's initial reaction to the doctored portrait. His irritated expressed dissolved into one of horror, and then fury. "Who did this?" he demanded, glancing around at the crowd.

No one answered.

Vernon marched forward and grabbed onto the jock strap. He tried pulling it off, but it didn't budge. A few people snickered, and Vernon looked back, more angry than Allison had ever seen him before.

"Whose underwear is this?"

"Hey, we didn't put it--"

Allison looked over to see two jocks standing off to the side of the group. She recognized them immediately as the boys she'd stolen the underwear and jock strap from, the same boys that had been making fun of Bender. The stupid blonde jock was rubbing his arm and staring at his companion in bewilderment. His friend, the redhead, was glaring at him.

Vernon stepped forward, finger pointed at the blonde. "What was that?"

The blonde glanced over at his friend, who shook his head slightly. The blonde looked back at Vernon. "Oh, uh…nothing."

But even Vernon could tell that he was lying. He poked the boy in the chest, right where his last name was embroidered on his letter jacket. "Fawcett, huh?"

The blonde nodded mutely.

Vernon went back to the portrait. "Fawcett," he said again, pointing to the jock strap.

The blonde boy swallowed deeply and glanced over at his friend, who looked like he wanted to beat him up.

But Vernon wasn't finished. He pointed at the pair of underwear. "Greene," he stated loudly. He looked up at the redhead. "Mr. Greene, I presume?"

The redhead sighed angrily and nodded.

For a moment, Mr. Vernon stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at them. He looked so triumphant that Allison couldn't help but wonder if this was the first time in his life that he'd figured something out so quickly without any help. Then he turned back to the crowd that had gathered. "Get to class!" he roared.

The students didn't need to be told twice. Everyone started talking all at once, murmuring to one another about what they'd just seen as they moved away from the scene of the crime. The two jocks tried to follow suit, but Vernon caught them by their jacket collars and pulled them back.

"Not so fast. You're coming with me."

The redhead swore under his breath, but didn't protest. The blonde, however, seemed completely bewildered by the entire situation.

"Sir, we didn't do it," he explained. "That's what I was trying to tell you. Someone, like, stole our underwear and--"

"Stole your underwear?" Vernon echoed. He scoffed. "Sure, and I'm the President of the United States."

This comment seemed to confuse the boy even more, as he frowned thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. Vernon gave the two of them a little push, and they started walking down the hall towards the administrators' offices.

Allison watched them until they rounded the corner, then took the stairs up to the second floor and headed to her first period class. When she arrived, she immediately scanned the back row for Bender, who was sitting in the corner with his legs propped up on an extra chair he'd stolen from the seat in front of him. He noticed her almost immediately, cocking his eyebrow in challenge.

Allison pretended not to notice. She kept her eyes on the floor as she walked down the aisle and plopped down in the seat beside his. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he was pretending not to be staring at her.

Finally, still staring straight ahead, she allowed herself--and him--a crooked smile. "Nice job," she said quietly.

Bender didn't say anything in response, but out of the corner of her eye she could see him smirking, and she knew that he was pleased.

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A/N: Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews! 


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